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Portrait of Fielding 

■ Original Etching by J. J. Calahan 


















Illustrated Sterling Bdltlon 


THE HISTORY OF 

TOM JONES 

A FOUNDLING 


IN THREE VOLUMES 

Volume I. 


BY 

HENRY FIELDING 



BOSTON 

DANA ESTES & COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 




rz 3 

,Y4ta 

ht 

ilo. 


^fu «\»V 
V 






CONTENTS 




BOOK I. 


CONTAINING AS MUCH OF THE BIRTH OF THE FOUNDLING AS IS NECES¬ 
SARY OR PROPER TO ACQUAINT THE READER WITH IN THE BEGIN¬ 
NING OF THIS HISTORY. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The introduction to the work, or hill of fare to the feast. 17 


CHAPTER II. 

A short description of Squire All worthy, and a fuller account of Miss 
Bridget Allworthy, his sister . 20 

CHAPTER III. 

An odd accident which befel Mr. Allworthy at his return home. The 
decent behaviour of Mrs. Deborah Wilkins, with some proper 
animadversions on bastards.. 22 


CHAPTER IV. 

The reader’s neck brought into danger by a description ; his escape ; 
and the great condescension of Miss Bridget Allworthy.. 26 

CHAPTER V. 

Containing a few common matters, with a very uncommon observa¬ 
tion iinon them. 

Tom jones, vol. i. 


30 













11 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VI. 

PAGE 

Mrs. Deborah is introduced into the parish with a simile. A short 
account of Jenny Jones, with the difficulties and discouragements 
which may attend young women in the pursuit of learning. 31 


CHAPTER VII. 

Containing such grave matter that the reader cannot laugh once 
through the whole chapter, unless peradventure he should laugh 
at the author. 36 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A dialogue between Mesdames Bridget and Deborah containing more 
amusement, but less instruction, than the former.. 41 


CHAPTER IX. 

Containing matters which will surprise the reader. 44 


CHAPTER X. 

The hospitality of All worthy ; with a short sketch of the characters 
of two brothers, a doctor and a captain, who were entertained by 
that gentleman. 47 


CHAPTER XI. 

Containing many rules, and some examples, concerning falling in 
love: descriptions of beauty, and other more prudential induce¬ 
ments to matrimony. 51 

CHAPTER XII. 

Containing what the reader may, perhaps, expect to find in it ..... 56 

l 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Which concludes the first book: with an instance of ingratitude, 
which, we hope, will appear unnatural. 60 











CONTENTS . 


111 


BOOK II. 

CONTAINING SCENES OF MATRIMONIAL FELICITY IN DIFFERENT DE¬ 
GREES OF LIFE ; AND VARIOUS OTHER TRANSACTIONS DURING THE 
FIRST TWO YEARS AFTER THE MARRIAGE BETWEEN CAPTAIN BLI- 
F1L AND MISS BRIDGET ALLWORTHY. 

CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Showing what kind of a history this is; what it is like, and what it 
is not like... 64 

CHAPTER II. 

Religious cautions against showing too much favor to bastards; and 
a great discovery made by Mrs. Deborah Wilkins. 66 

CHAPTER III. 

The description of a domestic government founded upon rules di¬ 
rectly contrary to those of Aristotle. 69 

CHAPTER IV. . 

Containing one of the most bloody battles, or rather duels, that were 
ever recorded in domestic history . 73 

CHAPTER V. 

Containing much matter to exercise the judgment and reflection of 
the reader.. 79 

CHAPTER VI. 

The trial of Partridge, the schoolmaster, for incontinency ; the evi¬ 
dence of his wi F e ; a short reflection on the wisdom of our law ; 
with other grave matters, which those will like best who under¬ 
stand them most ..*. 85 








IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

A short sketch of that felicity which prudent couples may extract 
from hatred : with a short apology for those people who overlook 
imperfections in their friends. 92 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A receipt to regain the lost affections of a wife, which hath never 
been known to fail in the most desperate cases. 97 


CHAPTER IX. 

A proof of the infallibility of the foregoing receipt, in the lamenta¬ 
tions of the widow ; with other suitable decorations of death, such 
as physicians, etc., and an epitaph in the true style. 99 


BOOK III. 


CONTAINING THE MOST MEMORABLE TRANSACTIONS WHICH PASSED IN 
THE FAMILY OF MR. ALLWORTHY, FROM THE TIME WHEN TOMMY 
JONES ARRIVED AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN, TILL IIE ATTAINED 
THE AGE OF SEVENTEEN. IN TniS BOOK THE READER MAY PICK 
UP SOME HINTS CONCERNING THE EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER I. 

Containing little or nothing. 


105 


CHAPTER II. 

The hero of this great history appears with very bad omens. A little 
tale of so low a kind that some may think it not worth their no¬ 
tice. A word or two concerning a squire, and more relating to a 
gamekeeper and a schoolmaster.. .107 


CHAPTER III. 

The character of Mr. Square the philosopher, and of Mr. Thwackum 
the divine ; with a dispute concerning.. ... ]18 









CONTENTS. v 

CHAPTER IV. 

PAGE 

Containing a necessary apology for the author; and a childish inci¬ 
dent, which perhaps requires an apology likewise . 116 


CHAPTER V. 

The opinions of the divine and the philosopher concerning the two 
boys; with some reasons for their opinions, and other matters.. 120 


CHAPTER VI. 

Containing a better reason still for the before-mentioned opinions... 126 


CHAPTER VII. 

In which the author himself makes his appearance on the stage .... 130 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A childish incident, in which, however, is seen a good-natured dis¬ 
position in Tom Jones... 132 


CHAPTER IX. 

Containing an incident of a more heinous kind, with the comments 
of Thwackum and Square. 135 


CHAPTER X. 

In which Master Blifil and Jones appear in different lights. 138 


BOOK IV. 


CONTAINING THE TIME OF A YEAR. 

CHAPTER I. 


Containing five pages of paper 


142 








VI 


CONTENTS . 


CHAPTER II. 

PAGB 

A short hint of what we can do in the sublime, and a description of 
Miss Sophia Western. 145 

CHAPTER III. 

Wherein the history goes back to commemorate a trifling incident 
that happened some years since ; but which, trifling as it was, had 
some future consequences . 149 

CHAPTER IV. 

Containing such very deep and grave matters that some readers, per¬ 
haps, may not relish it.... .. 152 

CHAPTER V. 

• Containing matter accommodated to every taste. 150 

CHAPTER VI. 

An apology for the insensibility of Mr. Jones to all the charms of the 
lovely Sophia; in which possibly w r e may, in a considerable de¬ 
gree, lower bis character in the estimation of those men of wit and 
gallantry who approve the heroes in most of our modern come¬ 
dies . 163 

CHAPTER VII. 

Being the shortest chapter in this book... 168 

» 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A battle sung by the muse in the Homerican style, and which none 
but the classical reader can taste. 169 

CHAPTER IX. 

Containing matter of no very peaceable color...178 










CONTENTS. 


• • 
vi 1 

CHAPTER X. 

PAGE 

A story told by Mr. Supple, the curate. The penetration of Squire 
Western. His great love for his daughter, and the return to it 
made by her.. 179 


CHAPTER XI. 

The narrow escape of Molly Seagrim, with some observations for 
which we have been forced to dive pretty deep into nature .... 185 


CHAPTER XII. 

Containing much clearer matters ; but which flowed from the same 
fountain with those in the preceding chapter. 190 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A dreadful accident which befel Sophia. The gallant behavior of 
Jones, and the more dreadful consequence of that behavior to the 
young lady; with a short digression in favor of the female sex .. 194 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The arrival of a surgeon. His operations, and a long dialogue be¬ 
tween Sophia and her maid.. . 197 


BOOK V. 

CONTAINING A PORTION OF TIME SOMEWHAT LONGER THAN HALF A 

YEAR. 

CHAPTER I. 

Of the serious in writing, and for what purpose it is introduced. 205 


CHAPTER II. 

In which Mr. Jones receives many friendly visits during his confine¬ 
ment ; with some fine touches of the passion of love, scarce visible 
to the naked eye. 








Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER III. 

Wliicli all who have no heart will think to contain much ado about 
nothing... 


CHAPTER IV. 

A little chapter, in which is contained a little incident 


CHAPTER V. 

A very long chapter, containing a very great incident. 


CHAPTER VI. 

By comparing which with the former, the reader may possibly cor¬ 
rect some abuse which he hath formerly been guilty of in the ap¬ 
plication of the word love.. 


CHAPTER VII. 

In which Mr. All worthy appears on a sick bed 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Containing matter rather natural than pleasing 


CHAPTER IX. 

Which, among other things, may serve as a comment on that saying 
of iEschines, that drunkenness shows the mind of a man, as a 
, mirror reflects his person. ”. 


PAGE 

215 


218 

222 


231 


238 


244 


250 


CHAPTER X. 

Showing the truth of many observations of Ovid, and of other more 
grave writers, who have proved, beyond contradiction, that wine 
. is often the forerunner of incontinency. 


256 












CONTENTS . 


IX 


CHAPTER XI. 

PAGE 

In which a simile in Mr. Pope’s period of a mile introduces as bloody 
a battle as can possibly be fought without the assistance of steel 
or cold iron. 260 

CHAPTER XII. 

In which is seen a more moving spectacle than all the blood in the 
bodies of Thwackum and Blifil, and of twenty other such, is ca¬ 
pable of producing.264 


BOOK VI. 

CONTAINING ABOUT THREE WEEKS. 

CHAPTER I. 

Of love. 270 

CHAPTER II. 

The character of Mrs. Western. Her great learning and knowledge 
of the world, and an instance of the deep penetration which she 
derived from those advantages. 273 

CHAPTER III. 

Containing two defiances to the critics.280 

CHAPTER IV. 

Containing sundry curious matters.285 


CHAPTER V. 

In which is related what passed between Sophia and her aunt .... 288 









X 


CONTENTS . 


CHAPTER VI. 

PAGH 

Containing a dialogue between Sophia and Mrs. Honour, which may 
a little relieve those tender affections which the foregoing scene 
may have raised in the mind of a good-natured reader. 293 


CHAPTER VII. 

A picture of formal courtship in miniature, as it always ought to be 
drawn, and a scene of a tenderer kind painted at full length .... 297 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The meeting between Jones and Sophia.302 

CHAPTER IX. 

Being of a much more tempestuous kind than the former ..304 

CHAPTER X. 

In which Mr. Western visits Mr. Allworthy. 310 


CHAPTER XI. 




A short chapter ; but which contains sufficient matter to effect the 
good-natured reader.... 315 


CHAPTER XII. 

Containing love-letters, etc.313 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The behavior of Sophia on the present occasion ; which none of her 
sex will blame, who are capable of behaving in the same manner. 

And the discussion of a knotty point in the court of conscience.. 323 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A short chapter, containing a short dialogue between Squire Western 
and his sister. 


328 












CONTENTS. si 

BOOK VII. 

CONTAINING THREE DAYS- 
CHAPTER 1. 

PAGE 

A comparison between the world and the stage.. „.331 

CHAPTER II. 

Containing a conversation which Mr. Jones had with himself.335 

CHAPTER HI. 

Containing several dialogues.. .... 338 

CHAPTER IV. 

A picture of a country gentlewoman taken from the life. „.... 344 

CHAPTER V. 

The generous beha vior of Sophia towards her aunt..... 347 

CHAPTER VI. 

Containing great variety of matter... 350 

CHAPTER VII. 

A strange resolution of Sophia, and a more strange stratagem of 
Mrs. Honour. 357 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Containing scenes of altercation, of no very uncommon kind...... 362 






















LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Portrait of Fielding . 

“He stood for some time lost in astonishment 11 
“This so pleased the good squire that he 

DAUGHTER A KISS 11 . 

The Battle Royal in the Churchyard 

Square Discovered in Molly Seagum’s Apartment 

Squire Western’s Rage with Tom Jones . 


PAGE 

Frontispiece 
. 22 
GAVE HIS 

. 161 
. 170 

. 228 
. 306 






THE 


HISTORY OF TOM JONES. 

A FOUNDLING. 


BOOK I. 

CONTAINING AS MUCH OF THE BIRTH OF THE FOUNDLING AS IS 
. NECESSARY OR PROPER TO ACQUAINT THE READER WITH IN 
THE BEGINNING OF THIS HISTORY, 


CHAPTER I. 

THE INTRODUCTION TO THE WORK, OR BILL OF FARE TO THE 

FEAST. 

An author ought to consider himself, not as a gentleman 
who gives a private or eleemosynary treat, but rather as 
one who keeps a public ordinary, at which all persons are 
welcome for their money. In the former case, it is well 
known that the entertainer provides what fare he pleases; 
and though this should be very indifferent, and utterly dis¬ 
agreeable to the taste of his company, they must not find 
any fault; nay, on the contrary, good breeding forces 
them outwardly to approve and to commend whatever is 
set before them, How the contrary of this happens to the 
master of an ordinary. Men who pay for what they eat will 
insist on gratifying their palates, however nice and even 
whimsical these may prove; and if everything is not agree¬ 
able to their taste will challenge a right to censure, to abuse, 
and to d—n their dinner without control. 

To prevent, therefore, giving offence to their customers 





18 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


by any such disappointment, it hath been usual with the 
honest and well-meaning host to provide a bill of fare 
which all persons may peruse at their first entrance into the 
house ; and having thence acquainted themselves with the 
entertainment which they may expect, may either stay and 
regale with what is provided for them, or may depart to 
some other ordinary better accommodated to their taste. 

As we do not disdain to borrow wit or wisdom from any 
man who is capable of lending us either, we have con¬ 
descended to take a hint from these honest victuallers, and 
shall prefix not only a general bill of fare to our whole 
entertainment, but shall likewise give the reader particular 
bills to every course which is to be served up in this and 
the ensuing volumes. 

The provision, then, which we have here made is no 
other than Human Nature. Nor do I fear that my sensi¬ 
ble reader, though most luxurious in his taste, will start, 
cavil, or be offended, because I have named but one article. 
The tortoise—as the alderman of Bristol, well learned in 
eating, knows by much experience—besides the delicious 
calibash and calipee, contains many different kinds of food ; 
nor can the learned reader be ignorant that in human na¬ 
ture, though here collected under one general name, is 
such prodigious variety that a cook will have sooner gone 
through all the several species of animal and vegetable 
food in the world than an author will be able to exhaust so 
extensive a subject. An objection may perhaps be ap¬ 
prehended from the more delicate, that this dish is too 
common and vulgar; for what else is the subject of all the 
romances, novels, plays, and poems, with which the stalls 
abound ? Many exquisite viands might be rejected by the 
epicure, if it was a sufficient cause for his contemning of 
them as common and vulgar, that something was to be 
found in the most paltry alleys under the same name. In 
reality, true nature is as difficult to be met with in authors 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 19 

as the Bayonne ham, or Bologna sausage, is to be found in 
the shops. 

But the whole, to continue the same metaphor, consists 
;in the cookery of the author; for, as Mr. Pope tells us, 

“ True wit is nature to advantage drest; 

"What oft was thought, but ne’er so well exprest.” 

The same animal which hath the honor to have some part 
of his flesh eaten at the table of a duke, may perhaps be 
degraded in another part, and some of his limbs gibbeted, 
as it were, in the vilest stall in town. Where, then, lies the 
difference between the food of the nobleman and the por¬ 
ter, if both are .at dinner on the same ox or calf, but in the 
seasoning, the dressing, the garnishing, and the setting 
forth ? Hence the one provokes and incites the most lam 
guid appetite, and the other turns and palls that which is 
the sharpest and keenest. 

In like manner, the excellence of the mental enter¬ 
tainment consists less in the subject than in the author’s 
skill in well dressing it up. Ilow pleased, therefore, 
will the reader be to find that we have, in the following 
work, adhered closely to one of the highest principles of 
the best cook which the present age, or perhaps that of 
Ileliogabalus, hath produced. This great man, as is well 
known to all polite lovers of eating, begins at first by set¬ 
ting plain things before his hungry guests, rising after¬ 
wards by degrees as their stomachs may be supposed to 
decrease, to the very quintessence of sauce and spices. In 
like manner, we shall represent human nature at first to the 
keen appetite of our reader, in that more plain and simple 
manner in which it is found in the country, and shall here¬ 
after hash and ragoo it with all the high French and Italian 
seasoning of affectation and vice which courts and cities 
afford. By these means, we doubt not but our reader may 
be rendered desirous to read on forever, as the great person 


no 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


just above-mentioned is supposed to have made some per¬ 
sons eat. 

Having premised thus much, we will now detain those 
who like our bill of fare no longer from their diet, and 
shall proceed directly to serve up the first course of our his¬ 
tory for their entertainment. 


CHAPTER II. 

A SHORT DESCRIPTION OF SQUIRE ALLWORTHY, AND A FULLER 
ACCOUNT OF MISS BRIDGET ALLWORTHY, HIS SISTER. 

In that part of the western division of this kingdom 
which is commonly called Somersetshire there lately 
lived, and perhaps lives still, a gentleman whose name 
was All worthy, and who might well be called the favorite 
of both nature and fortune ; for both of these seem to have 
contended which should bless and enrich him most. In 
this contention, nature may seem to some to have come off 
victorious, as she bestowed on him many gifts while for¬ 
tune had only one gift in her power; but in pouring forth 
this, she was so very profuse, that others perhaps may 
think this single endowment to have been more than equiv¬ 
alent to all the various blessings which he enjoyed from 
nature. From the former of these, he derived an agreeable 
person, a sound constitution, a solid understanding, and a 
benevolent heart; by the latter, he was decreed to the in¬ 
heritance of one of the largest estates in the county. 

This gentleman had in his youth married a very worthy 
and beautiful woman, of whom he had been extremely 
fond: by her he had three children, all of whom died 
in their infancy. He had likewise had the misfortune of 
burying this beloved wife herself, about five years before 
the time in which this history chooses to set out. This loss, 
however great, he bore like a man of sense and constancy, 


TOM JONES: A FO UNBEING. 


21 


though it must be confessed lie would often talk a little 
whimsically on this head ; for he sometimes said he looked 
on himself as still married, and considered his wife as only 
gone a little before him, a journey which he should most 
certainly, sooner or later, take after her ; and that he had not 
the least doubt of meeting her again in a place where he 
should never part with her more—sentiments for which his 
sense was arraigned by one part of his neighbors, his re¬ 
ligion by a second, and his sincerity by a third. 

He now lived, for the most part, retired in the country, 
with one sister, for whom lie had a very tender affection. 
This lady was now somewhat past the age of thirty, an era 
at which, in the opinion of the malicious, the title of old 
maid may with no impropriety be assumed. She was of 
that species of women whom you commend rather for 
good qualities than beauty, and who are generally called, 
by their own sex, very good sort of women—as good a sort 
of woman, madam, as you would wish to know. Indeed, 
she was so far from regretting want of beauty that she 
never mentioned that perfection, if it can be called one, 
without contempt; and would often thank God she was 
not as handsome as Miss Such-a-one, whom perhaps beauty 
had led into errors which she might have otherwise avoid* 
ed. Miss Bridget Allworthy (for that was the name oi 
this lady) very rightly conceived the charms of person in a 
woman to be no better than snares for herself, as well as 
for others; and yet so discreet was she in her conduct, that 
her prudence was as much on the guard as if she had had 
all the snares to apprehend which were ever laid for her 
whole sex. Indeed, I have observed, though it may seem 
unaccountable to the reader, that this guard of prudence, 
like the trained bands, is always readiest to go on duty 
where there is the least danger. It often basely and cow¬ 
ardly deserts those paragons for whom the men are all 
wishing, sighing, dying, and spreading every net in their 


22 


THE IIISTOR Y OF 


power; and constantly attends at the heels of that higher 
order of women for whom the other sex have a more dis¬ 
tant and awful respect, and whom (from despair, I sup¬ 
pose, of success) they never venture to attack. 

Header, I think proper, before we proceed any farther 
together, to acquaint thee that I intend to digress, through 
this whole history, as often as I see occasion, of which I 
am myself a better judge than any pitiful critic whatever; 
and here I must desire all those critics to mind their own 
business, and not to intermeddle with affairs or works 
which no ways concern them; for till they produce the 
authority by which they are constituted judges, I shall not 
plead to their jurisdiction. 


CHAPTER III. 

A.N ODD ACCIDENT WHICH BEFELL MR. ALLWORTHY AT HIS 
RETURN HOME. THE DECENT BEHAVIOR OF MRS. DEBORAH 
WILKINS, WITH SOME PROPER ANIMADVERSIONS ON BAS¬ 
TARDS. 

I have told my reader, in the preceding chapter, that 
Mr. Allworthy inherited a large fortune; that he had a 
good heart, and no family. Hence, doubtless, it will be 
concluded by many that he lived like an honest man, owed 
no one a shilling, took nothing but what was his own, kept 
a good house, entertained his neighbors with a hearty wel¬ 
come at his table, and was charitable to the poor, i.e ., to 
those who had rather beg than work, by giving them the 
offals from it; that he died immensely rich and built an 
hospital. 

And true it is that he did many of these things; but 
iiad he done nothing more I should have left him to have 
recorded his own merit on some fair freestone over the 
floor of that hospital. Matters of a much more extraordi- 



HE STOOD FOR SOME TIME LOST IN ASTONISHMENT 






































































































































































































































































TOM JONES: A FO UNDLIXG. 


23 


nary kind are to be the subject of this history, or I should 
grossly mis-spend my time in writing so voluminous a 
work ; and you, my sagacious friend, might with equal 
profit and pleasure travel through some pages which cer¬ 
tain droll authors have been facetiously pleased to call The 
History of England. 

Mr. All worthy had been absent a full quarter of a year 
in London, on some very particular business, though I know 
not what is was ; but judge of its importance by its having 
detained him so long from home, whence he had not been 
absent a month at a time during the space of many years, 
lie came to his house very late in the evening, and, after a 
short supper with his sister, retired much fatigued to his 
chamber. Here, having spent some minutes on his knees 
—a custom which he never broke through on any account 
—he was preparing to step into bed, when, upon opening 
the clothes, to his great surprise he beheld an infant, wrapt 
up in some coarse linen, in a sweet and profound sleep, be¬ 
tween his sheets. lie stood sometime lost in astonishment 
at this sight; but, as good nature had always the ascendant 
in his mind, he soon began to be touched with sentiments 
of compassion for the little wretch before him. He then 
rang his bell, and ordered an elderly woman-servant to rise 
immediately and come to him; and in the meantime was 
so eager in contemplating the beauty of innocence, ap¬ 
pearing in those lively colors witli which infancy and 
sleep always display it, that his thoughts were too much 
engaged to reflect that he was in his shirt when the matron 
came in. She had indeed given her master sufficient time 
to dress himself ; for out of respect to him, and regard to 
decency, she had spent many minutes in adjusting her hair 
at the looking-glass, notwithstanding all the hurry in which 
she had been summoned by the servant, and though her 
master, for aught she knew, lay expiring in an apoplexy, or 
in some other fit. 


24 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


It will not be wondered at that a creature who had so 
strict a regard to decency in her own person should bo 
shocked at the least deviation from it in another. She 
therefore no sooner opened the door, and saw her master 
standing by the bedside in his shirt, with a candle in hi? 
hand, than she started back in a most terrible fright, and 
might perhaps have swooned away, had he not now recol¬ 
lected his being undrest, and put an end to her terrors by 
desiring her to stay without the door till he had thrown 
some clothes over his back, and was become incapable of 
shocking the pure eyes of Mrs. Deborah Wilkins, who, 
though in the fifty-second year of her age, vowed she had 
never beheld a man without his coat. Sneerers and pro¬ 
fane wits may perhaps laugh at her first fright; yet my 
grave reader, when he considers the time of night, the 
summons from her bed, and the situation in which she 
found her master, will highly justify and applaud her con¬ 
duct, unless the prudence which must be supposed to at¬ 
tend maidens at that period of life at which Mrs. Deborah 
had arrived, should a little lessen his admiration. 

When Mrs. Deborah returned into the room, and was 
acquainted by her master with the finding the little infant, 
her consternation was rather greater than his had been ; 
nor could she refrain from crying out, with great horror of 
accent as well as look, “ My good sir ! what’s to be done?” 
Mr. Allworthy answered, she must take care of the child 
that evening, and in the morning he would give orders to 
provide it a nurse. “Yes, sir,” says she, “ and I hope 
your worship will send out your warrant to take up the 
hussy its mother, for she must be one of the neighborhood ; 
and I should be glad to see her committed to Bridewell, 
and whipt at the cart’s tail. Indeed, such wicked sluts 
cannot be too severely punished. I’ll warrant ’tis not her 
first, by her impudence in laying it to your worship.” 
“ In laying it to me, Deborah! ” answered Allworthy : 


TOM J ONES: A FO UNDLIN G. 


25 


“ I can’t think she hath any such design. I suppose she 
hath only taken this method to provide for her child ; and 
truly 1 am glad she hath not done worse.” “ I don’t know 
what is worse,” cries Deborah, “ than for such wicked 
strumpets to lay their sins at honest men’s doors; and 
though your worship knows your own innocence, yet the 
world is censorious; and it hath been many an honest 
man’s hap to pass for the father of children he never be¬ 
got ; and if your worship should provide for the child, it 
may make the people the apter to believe ; besides, why 
should your worship provide for what the parish is obliged 
to maintain ? For my own part, if it was an honest man’s 
child, indeed—but for my own part, it goes against me 
to touch these mis-begotten wretches, whom I don’t look 
upon as my fellow-creatures. Faugh! how it stinks! 
It doth not smell like a Christian. If I might be so 
bold to give my advice, I would have it put in a basket, 
and sent out and laid at the church-warden’s door. It 
is.a good night, only a little rainy and windy; and if it 
was well wrapt up, and put in a warm basket, it is two to 
one but it lives till it is found in the morning. But if it 
should not, we have discharged our duty in taking proper 
care of it; and it is, perhaps, better for such creatures to 
die in a state of innocence than to grow up and imitate 
their mothers; for nothing better can be expected of 
i them.” 

There were some strokes in this speech which perhaps 
would have offended Mr. Allworthy had he strictly at¬ 
tended to it; butlie had now got one of his fingers*into 
the infant’s hand, which, by its gentle pressure seeming to 
implore his assistance, had certainly outpleaded the elo¬ 
quence of Mrs. Deborah, had it been ten times greater than 
it was. He now gave Mrs. Deborah positive orders to take 
the child to her own bed, and to call up a maid-servant to 
provide it pap, and other things, against it waked. He 



26 


THE 1IISTOK Y OF 

likewise ordered that proper clothes should be procured for 
it early in the morning, and that it should be brought to 
himself as soon as he was stirring. 

Such was the discernment of Mrs. Wilkins, and such 
the respect she bore her master, under whom she enjoyed 
a most excellent place, that her scruples gave way to his 
peremptory commands; and she took the child under her 
arms, without any apparent disgust at the illegality of its 
birth ; and declaring it was a sweet little infant, walked off 
with it to her own chamber. 

Allworthy here betook himself to those pleasing slum¬ 
bers which a heart that hungers after goodness is apt to en¬ 
joy when thoroughly satisfied. As these are possibly 
sweeter than what are occasioned by any other hearty meal, 
I should take more pains to display them to the reader, if 1 
knew any air to recommend him to for the procuring such 
an appetite. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE READER’S NECK BROUGHT INTO DANGER BY A DESCRIP¬ 
TION ; HIS ESCAPE ; AND THE GREAT CONDESCENSION OF 

MISS BRIDGET ALLWORTHY. 

The Gothic style of building could produce nothing no¬ 
bler than Mr. Allworthy’s house. There was an air of 
grandeur in it that struck you with awe, and rivalled the 
beauties of the best Grecian architecture ; and it was as 
commodious within as venerable without. 

It'stood on the southeast side of a hill, but nearer the 
bottom than the top of it, so as to be sheltered from the 
northeast by a grove of old oaks which rose above it in a 
gradual ascent of near half a mile, and yet high enough to 
enjoy a most charming prospect of the valley beneath. 

In the midst of the grove was a fine lawn, sloping down 
towards the house, near the summit of which rose a pleiv 




TOM JONES: A FO END LING. 


27 


tiful spring, gushing out of a rock covered with firs, and 
forming a constant cascade of about thirty feet, not carried 
down a regular flight of steps, but tumbling in a natural 
fall over the broken and mossy stones till it came to the 
bottom of the rock, then running off in a pebbly channel, 
that with many lesser falls winded along, till it fell into a 
lake at the foot of the hill, about a quarter of a mile below 
the house on the south side, and which was seen from every 
room in the front. Out of this lake, which filled the cen¬ 
tre of a beautiful plain, embellished with groups of beech¬ 
es and elms, and fed with sheep, issued a river, that for 
several miles was seen to meander through an amazing va¬ 
riety of meadows and woods till it emptied itself into the 
sea, with a large arm of which, and an island beyond it, 
the prospect was closed. 

On the right of this valley opened another of less extent, 
adorned with several villages, and terminated by one of the 
towers of an old ruined abbey, grown over with ivy, and 
part of the front, which remained still entire. 

The left-hand scene presented the view of a very fine 
park, composed of very unequal ground, and agreeably va¬ 
ried with all the diversity that hills, lawns, wood, and water, 
laid out with admirable taste, but owing less to art than 
to nature, could give. Beyond this, the country gradually 
rose into a ridge of wild mountains, the tops of which were 
above the clouds. 

It was now the middle of May, and the morning was re¬ 
markably serene, when Mr. All worthy walked forth on the 
terrace, where the dawn opened every minute that lovely 
prospect we have before described to his eye; and now 
having sent forth streams of light, which ascended the blue 
firmament before him, as harbingers preceding his pomp, 
in the full blaze of his majesty rose the sun, than which one 
object alone in this lower creation could be more glorious, 
and that Mr. Allworthy himself presented—a human being 



TIIE IIISTOli Y OF 


28 

replete with benevolence, meditating in what manner he 
might render himself most acceptable to his Creator, by 
doing most good to his creatures. 

Header, take care. I have unadvisedly led thee to the 
top of as high a hill as Mr. Allworthy’s, and how to get 
thee down without breaking thy neck I do not well know. 
However, let us e’en venture to slide down together; for 
Miss Bridget rings her bell, and Mr. Allworthy is sum¬ 
moned to breakfast, where I must attend, and, if you please, 

shall be glad of your company. 

The usual compliments having passed between Mr. All¬ 
worthy and Miss Bridget, and the tea being poured out, 
he summoned Mrs. Wilkins, and told his sister he had a 
present for her, for which she thanked him—imagining, I 
suppose, it had been a gown, or .some ornament for her per¬ 
son. Indeed, he very often made her such presents; and 
she, in complacence to him, spent much time in adorning 
herself. I say in complacence to him, because she always 
expressed the greatest contempt for dress, and for those 
ladies who made it their study. 

But if such was her expectation, how was she disappointed 
when Mrs. Wilkins, according to the order she had received 
from her master, produced the little infant! Great sur¬ 
prises, as hath been observed, are apt to be silent; and so 
was Miss Bridget, till her brother began, and told her the 
whole story, which, as the reader knows it already, we shall 
not repeat. 

Miss Bridget had always expressed so great a regard for 
what the ladies are pleased to call virtue, and had herself 
maintained such a severity of character, that it was expect¬ 
ed, especially by Mrs. Wilkins, that she would have vented 
much bitterness on this occasion, and would have voted for 
sending the child, as a kind of noxious animal, immediately 
out of the house ; but, on the contrary, she rather took the 
good-natured side of the question, intimated some con pas- 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


29 


sion for the helpless little creature, and commended her 
brother’s charity in what he had done. 

Perhaps the reader may account for this behavior from 
her condescension to Mr. All worthy, when we have informed 
him that the good man had ended his narrative with owning 
a resolution to take care of the child, and to breed him up 
as his own ; for, to acknowledge the truth, she was always 
ready to oblige her brother, and very seldom, if ever, con¬ 
tradicted his sentiments. She would, indeed, sometimes 
make a few observations, as that men were headstrong, and 
must have their own way, and would wish she had been 
blest with an independent fortune; but these were always 
vented in a low voice, and at the most amounted only to 
what is called muttering. 

However, what she withheld from the infant she be¬ 
stowed with the utmost profuseness on the poor unknown 
mother, whom she called an impudent slut, a wanton hussy, 
an audacious harlot, a wicked jade, a vile strumpet, with 
every other appellation with which the tongue of virtue 
never fails to lash those who bring a disgrace on the sex. 

A consultation was now entered into how to proceed in 
order to discover the mother. A scrutiny was first made 
into the characters of the female servants of the house, who 
were all acquitted by Mrs. Wilkins, and with apparent 
merit; for she had collected them herself, and perhaps it 
would be difficult to find such another set of scarecrows. 

The next step was to examine among the inhabitants of 
the parish; and this was referred to Mrs. Wilkins, who was 
to inquire with all imaginable diligence, and to make her 
report in the afternoon. 

Matters being thus settled, Mr. Allworthy withdrew to 
his study, as was his custom, and left the child to his sister, 
who, at his desire, had undertaken the care of it. 



30 


THE HISTORY OF 


CHAPTER Y. 

CONTAINING A FEW COMMON MATTERS, WITH A VERY UN¬ 
COMMON OBSERVATION UPON THEM. 

When her master was departed, Mrs. Deborah stood si¬ 
lent, expecting her cue from Miss Bridget ; for as to what 
had passed before her master, the prudent housekeeper by 
no means relied upon it, as she had often known the senti¬ 
ments of the lady in her brother’s absence to differ greatly 
from those which she had expressed in his presence. Miss 
Bridget did not, however, suffer her to continue long in this 
doubtful situation; for having looked some time earnestly 
at the child, as it lay asleep in the lap of Mrs. Deborah, 
the good lady could not forbear giving it a hearty kiss, at 
the same time declaring herself wonderfully pleased with 
its beauty and innocence. Mrs. Deborah no sooner observed 
this than she fell to squeezing and kissing, with as great 
raptures as sometimes inspire the sage dame of forty and 
five towards a youthful and vigorous bridegroom, crying 
out, in a shrill voice, “ O, the dear little creature!—The 
dear, sweet, pretty creature ! Well, I vow it is as fine a 
boy as ever was seen ! ” 

These exclamations continued till they were interrupted 
by the lady, who now proceeded to execute the commission 
given her by her brother, and gave orders for providing all 
necessaries for the child, appointing a very good room in 
the house for his nursery. Her orders were indeed so lib¬ 
eral, that, had it been a child of her own, she could not 
have exceeded them; but, lest the virtuous reader may 
condemn her for showing too great regard to a base-born 
infant, to which all charity is condemned by law as irre¬ 
ligious, we think proper to observe that she concluded the 
whole with saying, “ Since it was her brother’s whim to 
adopt the little brat, she supposed little master must be 


TOM JONES: A FO UN FLING. 


31 


treated with great tenderness. For her part, she could not 
help thinking it was an encouragement to vice ; but that 
she knew too much of the obstinacy of mankind to oppose 
any of their ridiculous humors.” 

With reflections of this nature she usually, as has been 
hinted, accompanied every act of compliance with her 
brother’s inclinations; and surety nothing could more con¬ 
tribute to heighten the merit of this compliance than a de¬ 
claration that she knew, at the same time, the folly and un¬ 
reasonableness of those inclinations to which she submitted. 
Tacit obedience implies no force upon the will, and con¬ 
sequently may be easily,and without any pains, preserved; 
but when a wife, a child, a relation, or a friend, performs 
what we desire, with grumbling and reluctance, with ex¬ 
pressions of dislike and dissatisfaction, the manifest difficul¬ 
ty which they undergo must greatly enhance the obligation. 

As this is one of those deep observations which very few 
readers can be supposed capable of making themselves, I 
have thought proper to lend them my assistance ; but this 
is a favor rarely to be expected in the course of my work. 
Indeed, I shall seldom or never so indulge him, unless in 
such instances as this, where nothing but the inspiration 
with which we writers are gifted can possibly enable any 
one to make the discovery. 

♦ 

CHAPTER YI. 

MRS. DEBORAH IS INTRODUCED INTO THE PARISH WITH A 
SIMILE. A SHORT ACCOUNT OF JENNY JONES, WITH THE 
DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS WHICH MAY ATTEND 
YOUNG WOMEN IN THE PURSUIT OF LEARNING. 

Mrs. Deborah, having disposed of the child according 
to the will of her master, now prepared to visit those habi¬ 
tations which were supposed to conceal its mother. 





32 


THE HISTORY OF 

Not otherwise than when a kite, tremendous bird, is be¬ 
held by the feathered generation soaring aloft, and hover¬ 
ing over their heads, the amorous dove, and every inno¬ 
cent little bird, spread wide the alarm, and fly trembling 
to their hiding-places. He proudly beats the air, conscious 
of his dignity, and meditates intended mischief. 

So when the approach of Mrs. Deborah was proclaimed 
through the street, all the inhabitants ran trembling into 
their houses, each matron dreading lest the visit should fall 
to her lot. She with stately steps proudly advances over 
the field: aloft she bears her towering head, filled with 
conceit of her own pre-eminence, and schemes to effect her 
intended discovery. 

The sagacious reader will not from this simile imagine 
these poor people had any apprehension of the design with 
which Mrs. Wilkins was now coming towards them; but 
as the great beauty of the simile may possibly sleep these 
hundred years, till some future commentator shall take this 
work in hand, I think proper to lend the reader a little 
assistance in this place. 

It is my intention, therefore, to signify that, as it is the 
nature of a kite to devour little birds, so is it the nature of 
such persons as Mrs. Wilkins to insult and tyrannize over 
little people. This being indeed the means which they use 
to recompense to themselves their extreme servility and 
condescension to their superiors; for nothing can be more 
reasonable than that slaves and flatterers should exact the 
same taxes on all below them, which they themselves pay 
to all above them. 

W1 lenever Mrs. Deborah had had occasion to exert any 
extraordinary condescension to Miss Bridget, and by that 
means had a little soured her natural disposition, it was 
usual with her to walk forth among these people, in order 
to refine her temper, by venting, and, as it were, purging 
off all ill-humors; on which account she was by no means 












TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


33 


a welcome visitant: to say the truth, she was universally 
hated and dreaded by them all. 

On her arrival in this place, she went immediately to the 
habitation of an elderly matron; to whom, as this matron 
had the good fortune to resemble herself in the comeliness 
of her person, as well as in her age, she had generally been 
more favorable than to any of the rest. To this woman 
she imparted what had happened, and the design upon 
which she was come hither that morning. These two be¬ 
gan presently to scrutinize the characters of the several 
young girls who lived in any of those houses, and at last 
fixed their strongest suspicion on one Jenny Jones, who, 
they both agreed, was the likeliest person to have com¬ 
mitted this fact. 

This Jenny Jones was no very comely girl, either in her 
face or person; but nature had somewhat compensated the 
want of beauty with what is generally more esteemed by 
those ladies whose judgment is arrived at years of perfect 
maturity, for she had given her a very uncommon share 
of understanding. This gift Jenny had a good deal im¬ 
proved by erudition. She had lived several years a servant 
with a schoolmaster, who, discovering a great quickness of 
parts in the girl, and an extraordinary desire of learning— 
for every leisure hour she was always found reading in the 
books of the scholars—had the good-nature, or folly— 
which the reader pleases to call it—to instruct her so far 
that she obtained a very competent skill in the Latin lan¬ 
guage, and was, perhaps, as good a scholar as most of the 
young men of quality of the age. This advantage, how¬ 
ever, like most others of an extraordinary kind, was attend¬ 
ed with some small inconveniences: for as it is not to be 
wondered at, that a young woman so well accomplished 
should have little relish for the society of those whom for¬ 
tune- had made her equals, hut whom education had ren¬ 
dered so much her inferiors; so is it matter of no greater 





34 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


astonishment that this superiority in Jenny, together with 
that behavior which is its certain consequence, should 
produce among the others some little envy and ill-will 
towards her ; and these had, perhaps, secretly burnt in 
the bosoms of her neighbors ever since her return from her 
service. 

Their envy did not, however, display itself openly, till 
poor Jenny, to the surprise of everybody, and to the vexa¬ 
tion of all the young women in these parts, had publicly 
shone forth on a Sunday in a new silk gown, with a laced 
cap, and other proper appendages to these. 

The flame, which had before lain in embryo, now burst 
forth. Jenny had, by her learning, increased her own 
pride, which none of her neighbors were kind enough to 
feed with the honor she seemed to demand ; and now, 
instead of respect and adoration, she gained nothing but 
hatred and abuse by her finery. The whole parish declared 
she could not come honestly by such things ; and parents, 
instead of wishing their daughters the same, felicitated 
themselves that their children had them not. 

Hence, perhaps, it was, that the good woman first men¬ 
tioned the name of this poor girl to Mrs. Wilkins; but there 
was another circumstance that confirmed the latter in her 
suspicion ; for Jenny had lately been often at Mr. All¬ 
worthy’s house. She had officiated as nurse to Miss Bridget, 
in a violent fit of illness, and had sat up many nights with 
that lady ; besides which, she had been seen there the very 
day before Mr. All worthy’s return, by Mrs. Wilkins her¬ 
self, though that sagacious person had not at first conceived 
any suspicion of her on that account: for, as she herself 
said, “ She had always esteemed Jenny as a very sober girl 
(though indeed she knew very little of her), and had rather 
suspected some of those wanton trollops, who gave them¬ 
selves airs, because, forsooth, they thought themselves hand¬ 
some.” 



TOM JONES: A FO UNDLING. 


35 


Jenny was now summoned to appear in person before 
Mrs. Deborah, which she immediately did. When Mrs. 
Deborah, putting on the gravity of a judge, with somewhat 
more than his austerity, began an oration with the words, 
“ You audacious strumpet!” in which she proceeded rather 
to pass sentence on the prisoner than to accuse her. 

Though Mrs. Deborah was fully satisfied of the guilt of 
Jenny, from the reasons above shown, it is possible Mr. 
Allworthy might have required some stronger evidence to 
have convicted her; but she saved her accusers any such 
trouble by freely confessing the whole fact with which she 
was charged. 

This confession, though delivered rather in terms of con¬ 
trition, as it appeared, did not at all mollify Mrs. Deborah, 
who now pronounced a second judgment against her, in 
more opprobrious language than before; nor had it any 
better success with the bystanders, who were now grown 
very numerous. Many of them cried out, “ They thought 
what madam’s silk gown would end in ; ” others spoke sar¬ 
castically of her learning. Not a single female was present 
but found some means of expressing her abhorrence of 
poor Jenny, who bore all very patiently, except the malice 
of one woman, who reflected upon her person, and tossing 
up her nose, said, “ The man must have a good stomach 
who would give silk gowns for such sort of trumpery! ” 
Jenny replied to this with a bitterness which might have 
surprised a judicious person, who had observed the tran¬ 
quillity with which she bore all the affronts to her chastity ; 
but her patience was perhaps tired out, for this is a virtue 
which is very apt to be fatigued by exercise. 

Mrs. Deborah, having succeeded beyond her hopes in her 
inquiry, returned with much triumph, and, at the appoint¬ 
ed hour, made a faithful report to Mr. Allworthy, who was 
much surprised at the relation ; for he had heard of the ex¬ 
traordinary parts and improvements of this girl, whom he 






36 


THE HISTORY OF 


intended to have given in marriage, together with a small 
living, to a neighboring curate. His concern, therefore, on 
this occasion, was at least equal to the satisfaction which 
appeared in Mrs. Deborah, and to many readers may seem 
much more reasonable. 

Miss Bridget blessed herself, and said, 4 ‘For her part, 
she should never hereafter entertain a good opinion of any 
woman.” For Jenny likewise had the happiness of being 
much in her good graces. 

The prudent housekeeper was again despatched to bring 
the unhappy culprit before Mr. Allworthy, in order, not as 
it was hoped by some, and expected by all, to be sent to the 
house of correction, but to receive wholesome admonition 
and reproof; which those who relish that kind of instruc¬ 
tive writing may peruse in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER VII. 

CONTAINING SUCH GRAVE MATTER THAT THE READER CAN¬ 
NOT LAUGH ONCE THROUGH THE WHOLE CHAPTER, UNLESS 
PERADVENTURE IIE SHOULD LAUGH AT THE AUTHOR. 

When Jenny appeared, Mr. Allworthy took her into his 
study, and spoke to her as follows: “ You know, child, it 
is in my power, as a magistrate, to punish you very rigor¬ 
ously for what you have done; and you will, perhaps, be 
the more apt to fear I should execute that power, because 
you have in a manner laid your sins at my door. 

“ But, perhaps, this is one reason which hath determined 
me to act in a milder manner with you : for, as no private 
resentment should ever influence a magistrate, I will be so 
far from considering your having deposited the infant in 
my house as an aggravation of your offence, that T will sup¬ 
pose, in your favor, this to have proceeded from a natural 
affection to your child, since you might have some hopes 


37 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

to see it thus better provided for than was in the power of 
yourself, or its wicked father, to provide for it. I should 
indeed have been highly offended with you had you exposed 
the little wretch in the manner of some inhuman mothers, 
who seem no less to have abandoned their humanity than 
to have parted with their chastity. It is the other part of 
your offence, therefore, upon which I intend to admonish 
you, I mean the violation of your chastity—a crime, how¬ 
ever lightly it may be treated by debauched persons, very 
heinous in itself, and very dreadful in its consecpiences. 

u The heinous nature of this offence must be sufficiently 
apparent to every Christian, inasmuch as it is committed in 
defiance of the laws of our religion, and of the express 
commands of him who founded that religion. 

“ And here its consecpiences may well be argued to be 
dreadful; for wliat can be more so than to incur the divine 
displeasure, by the breach of the divine commands; and 
that in an instance against which the highest vengeance is 
specifically denounced? 

“But these things, though too little, I am afraid, re¬ 
garded, are so plain that mankind, however they may want 
to be reminded, can never need information on this head. 
A hint, therefore, to awaken your sense of this matter, 
shall suffice; for I would inspire you with repentance, and 
not drive you to desperation. 

“There are other consecpiences, not indeed so dreadful 
or replete with horror as this; and yet such as, if atten¬ 
tively considered, must, one would think, deter all of your 
sex at least from the commission of this crime. 

“ For by it you are rendered infamous, and driven, like 
lepers of old, out of society; at least, from the society of 
all but wicked and reprobate persons; for no others will 
associate with you. 

“If you have fortunes, you are hereby rendered incapa¬ 
ble of enjoying them; if you have none, you are disabled 


38 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


from acquiring any, nay, almost of procuring your suste 
nance; for no persons of character will receive you into 
their houses. Thus you are often driven by necessity itself 
into a state of shame and misery, which unavoidably ends 
in the destruction of both body and soul. 

“ Can any pleasure compensate these evils ? Can any 
temptation have sophistry and delusion strong enough to 
persuade you to so simple a bargain ? Or can any carnal 
appetite so overpower your reason, or so totally lay it 
asleep, as to prevent your flying with affri glit and terror 
from a crime which carries such punishment always with 
it ? 

“ How base and mean must that woman be, how void of 
that dignity of mind, and decent pride, without which we 
are not worthy the name of human creatures, who can bear 
to level herself with the lowest animal, and to sacrifice all 
that is great and noble in her, all her heavenly part, to an 
appetite which she hath in common with the vilest branch 
of the creation! For no woman, sure, will plead the pas¬ 
sion of love for an excuse. This would be to own herself 
the mere tool and bubble of the man. Love, however 
barbarously we may corrupt and pervert its meaning, as 
it is a laudable, is a rational passion, and can never be vio¬ 
lent but when reciprocal; for though the Scripture bids 
us love our enemies, it means not with that fervent love 
which we naturally bear towards our friends ; much less 
that we should sacrifice to them our lives, and what on edit 
to be dearer to us, our innocence. Now in what light, but 
that of an enemy, can a reasonable woman regard the man 
who solicits her to entail on herself all the misery I have 
described to you, and who would purchase to himself a 
short, trivial, contemptible pleasure, so greatly at her ex¬ 
pense ! For, by the laws of custom, the whole shame, with 
all its dreadful consequences, falls entirely upon her 
Can love, which always seeks the good of its object, at- 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


39 


tempt to betray a woman into a’bargain where slie is so 
greatly to be the loser? If such corrupter, therefore, should 
have the impudence to pretend a real affection for her, 
ought not the woman to regard him not only as an enemy, 
but as the worst of all enemies, a false, designing, treacher¬ 
ous, pretended friend, who intends not only to debauch her 
body, but her understanding at the same time ? ” 

Here, Jenny expressing great concern, All worthy paused 
a moment, and then proceeded : “ I have talked thus tu 

you, child, not to insult you for what is past and irrevo¬ 
cable, but to caution and strengthen you for the future. 
Nor should I have taken this trouble, but from some opin¬ 
ion of your good sense, notwithstanding the dreadful slip 
you have made ; and from some hopes of your hearty re¬ 
pentance, which are founded on the openness and sincer¬ 
ity of your confession. If these do not deceive me, I will 
take care to convey you from this scene of your shame, 
where you shall, by being unknown, avoid the punishment 
which, as I have said, is allotted to your crime in this 
world; and I hope, by repentance, you will avoid the much 
heavier sentence denounced against it in the other. Be a 
good girl the rest of your days, and want shall be no motive 
to your going astray ; and, believe me, there is more 
pleasure, even in this world, in an innocent and virtuous 
life, than in one debauched and vicious. 

“As to your child, let no thoughts concerning it molest 
you; I will provide for it in a better manner than you can 
ever hope. And now nothing remains but that you inform 
me who was the wicked man that seduced you ; for my 
anger against him will be much greater than you have ex¬ 
perienced on this occasion.” 

Jenny now lifted her eyes from the ground, and with a 
modest look and decent voice thus began : 

“ To know you, sir, and not love your goodness, would be 
an argument of total want of sense or goodness in any one. 


40 


THE IIISTOH Y OF 


In me it would amount to the highest ingratitude, not to 
feel, in the most sensible manner, the great degree of good¬ 
ness you have been pleased to exert on this occasion. As 
to my concern for what is past, I know you will spare my 
blushes the repetition. My future conduct will much bet¬ 
ter declare my sentiments than any professions I can now 
make. I beg leave to assure you, sir, that 1 take your 
advice much kinder than your generous offer with which 
you concluded it; for, as you are pleased to say, sir, it is an 
instance of your opinion of my understanding.” Here 
her tears flowing apace, she stopped a few moments, and 
then proceeded thus: “Indeed, sir, your kindness over¬ 
comes me ; but I will endeavor to deserve this good opin¬ 
ion : for if I have the understanding you are so kindly 
pleased to allow me, such advice cannot be thrown away 
upon me. I thank you, sir, heartily, for your intended 
kindness to my p>oor helpless child: he is innocent, and I 
hope will live to be grateful for all the favors you shall 
show him. But now, sir, I must on my knees entreat 
you not to persist in asking me to declare the father of my 
infant. I promise you faithfully you shall one day know ; 
but I am under the most solemn ties and engagements of 
honor, as well as the most religious vows and protestations, 
to conceal his name at this time. And I know vou too well 

*j 

to think you would desire I should sacrifice either my 
honor or 1113^ religion.” 

Mr. A11 worthy, whom the least mention of those sacred 
words was sufficient to stagger, hesitated a moment before 
he replied, and then* told her she had done wrong to 
enter into such engagements to a villain ; but since she 
had, he could not insist on her breaking them. lie said, it 
was not from a motive of vain curiosity he had inquired, 
but in 'order to punish the fellow; at least, that he might 
not ignorantly confer favors on the undeserving. 

As to these points, Jenny satisfied him by the most 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


41 


solemn assurances that the man was entirely out of his 
reach ; and was neither subject to his power, nor in any 
probability of becoming an object of his goodness. 

The ingenuity of this behavior had gained Jenny so 
much credit with this worthy man that he easily believed 
what she told him ; for as she had disdained to excuse 
herself by a lie, and had hazarded his further displeasure 
in her present situation, rather than she would forfeit her 
honor, or integrity, by betraying another, he had but little 
apprehensions that she would be guilty of falsehood towards 
himself. 

He therefore dismissed her, with assurances that he 
would very soon remove her out of the reach of that oblo¬ 
quy she had incurred ; concluding with some additional 
documents, in which he recommended repentance, saying, 
“ Consider, child, there is one still to reconcile yourself 
to, whose favor is of much greater importance to you than 
mine. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN MESDAMES BRIDGET AND DEBORAH 

CONTAINING MORE AMUSEMENT, BUT LESS INSTRUCTION. 

THAN THE FORMER. 

When Mr. Allworthy had retired to his study with 
Jenny Jones, as hath been seen, Miss Bridget, with the 
good housekeeper, had betaken themselves to a post next 
adjoining to the said study ; whence, through the convey¬ 
ance of a key-hole, they sucked in at their ears the in 
structive lecture delivered by Mr. Allwortliy, together with 
the answers of Jenny, and indeed every other particular 
which passed in the last chapter. 

This hole in her brother’s study-door was indeed as well 
known to Miss Bridget, and had been as frequently applied 
to by her, as the famous hole in the wall was by Tliisbe of 


4 'l 


THE TILS TOE Y OF 


old. This served to many good purposes. For by such 
means Miss Bridget became often acquainted with her 
brother’s inclinations, without giving him the trouble of 
repeating them to her. It is true, some inconveniences at¬ 
tended this intercourse, and she had sometimes reason to 
cry out with Thisbe, in Shakespeare, “ O, wicked, wicked 
wall !” For as Mr. All worthy was a justice of peace, cer¬ 
tain things occurred in examinations concerning bastards, 
and such like, which are apt to give great offence to the 
chaste ears of virgins, especially when they approach the 
age of forty, as was the case of Miss Bridget. However, 
she had, on such occasions, the advantage of concealing 
her blushes from the eyes of men ; and De non appar- 
entibus , et non existentibus eadem est ratio —in English, 
“ When a woman is not seen to blush, she doth not blush 
at all.” 

Both the good women kept strict silence during the 
whole scene between Mr. Allworthy and the girl ; but 
as soon as it was ended, and that gentleman w r as out of 
hearing, Mrs. Deborah could not help exclaiming against 
the clemency of her master, and especially against his suf¬ 
fering her to conceal the father of the child, which she 
swore she would have out of her before the sun set. 

At these words Miss Bridget discomposed her features 
with a smile (a thing very unusual to her). Not that I 
would have my reader imagine that this was one of those 
wanton smiles which Homer would have you conceive 
came from Venus when he calls her the laughter-loving 
goddess ; nor was it one of those smiles which lady Sera- 
pliina shoots from the stage-box, and which Yen its would 
quit her immortality to be able to equal. No, this was 
rather one of those smiles which might be supposed to have 
come from the dimpled cheeks of the august Tisiplione, or 
from one of the misses, her sisters. 

With such a smile, then, and with a voice sweet as the 


43 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

evening breeze of Boreas in the pleasant month of Novem¬ 
ber, Miss Bridget gently reproved the curiosity of Mrs. 
Deborah ; a vice with which it seems the latter was too 
much tainted, and which the former inveighed against with 
great bitterness, adding, “ That, among all her faults, she 
thanked heaven her enemies could not accuse her of pry¬ 
ing into the affairs of other people.” 

She then proceeded to commend the honor and spirit 
with which Jenny had acted. She said she could not help 
agreeing with her brother, that there was some merit in the 
sincerity of her confession, and in her integrity to her 
lover : that she had always thought her a very good girl, 
and doubted not but she had been seduced by some rascal, 
who had been infinitely more to blame than herself, and 
very probably had prevailed with her by a promise of mar¬ 
riage, or some other treacherous proceeding. 

This behavior of Miss Bridget greatly surprised Mrs. 
Deborah ; for this well-bred woman seldom opened her lips, 
either to her master or his sister, till she had first sounded 
their inclinations, with which her sentiments were always 
strictly consonant. Here, however, she thought she might 
have launched forth with safety ; and the sagacious reader 
will not perhaps accuse her of want of sufficient forecast in 
so doing, but will rather admire with what wonderful ce¬ 
lerity she tacked about, when she found herself steering a 
wrong course. # 

“ Nay, madam,” said this able woman and truly great 
politician, “ I must own I cannot help admiring the girl’s 
spirit, as well as your ladyship. And, as your ladyship 
says, if .she was deceived by some wicked man, the poor 
wretch is to be pitied. And to be sure, as your ladyship 
says, the girl hath always appeared like a good, honest, 
plain girl, and not vain of her face, forsooth, as some wan¬ 
ton husseys in the neighborhood are.” 

u You say true, Deborah,” said Miss Bridget. u If the 





44 


THE HIST OR T OF 


girl had been one of those vain trollops, of which we have 
too many in the parish, I should have condemned my 
brother for his lenity towards her. I saw two farmers’ 
daughters at church, the other day, with bare necks. I 
protest they shocked me. If wenches will hang out lures 
for fellows, it is no matter what they suffer. I detest such 
creatures ; and it would be much better for them that their 
faces had been seamed with the small-pox ; but I must con¬ 
fess, I never saw any of this wanton behavior in poor Jen- 
. ny : some artful villain, I am convinced, hath betrayed, 
nay perhaps forced her ; and I pity the poor wretch with 
all my heart.” 

Mrs. Deborah approved all these sentiments, and the dia¬ 
logue concluded with a general and bitter invective against 
beauty, and with many compassionate considerations for all 
honest plain girls who are deluded by the wicked arts of 
deceitful men. 

CHAPTER IX. 

CONTAINING MATTERS WHICH WILL SURPRISE THE READER. 

Jenny returned home well pleased with the reception she 
had met with from Mr. Allworthy, whose indulgence to her 
she industriously made public ; partly perhaps as a sacrifice 
to her own pride, and partly from the more prudent motive 
of reconciling her neighbors to her, and. silencing their 
clamors. 

But though this latter view, if she indeed had it, may 
appear reasonable enough, yet the event did not answer 
her expectation ; for when she was convened before the 
justice, and it was universally apprehended that the house 
of correction would have been her fate, though some of the 
young women cried out, “ It was good enough for her,” 
and diverted themselves with the thoughts of her beating 
hemp in a silk gown, yet there were many others who 


45 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

began to pity lier condition : but when it was known in 
what manner Mr. Allworthy had behaved, the tide turned 
against her. One said, “ I’ll assure you, madam hath had 
good luck.” A second cried, “ See what it is to be a 
favorite!” A third, “ Ay, this comes of her learning.” 
Every person made some malicious comment or other on 
the occasion, and reflected on the partiality of the justice. 

The behavior of these people may appear impolitic and 
ungrateful to the reader, who considers the power and 
benevolence of Mr. Allwortliy. But as to his power, 
he never used it, and as to his benevolence, he exerted 
so much, that he had thereby disobliged all his neigh¬ 
bors ; for it is a secret well known to great men, that by 
conferring an obligation they do not always procure a 
friend, but are certain of creating many enemies. 

Jenny was, however, by the care and goodness of Mr. 
Allworthy, soon removed out of the reach of reproach ; 
when malice, being no longer able to vent its rage on her, 
began to seek another object of its bitterness, and this was 
no less than Mr. Allwortliy himself ; for a whisper soon 
went abroad that he himself was the father of the found¬ 
ling child. 

This supposition so well reconciled his conduct to the 
general opinion, that it met with universal assent ; and the 
outcry against his lenity soon began to take another turn, 
and was changed into an invective against his cruelty to 
the poor girl. Very grave and good women exclaimed 
against men who begot children, and then disowned them. 
Nor were there wanting some who, after the departure of 
Jenny, insinuated that she was spirited away with a design 
too black to be mentioned, and who gave frequent hints 
that a legal inquiry ought to be made into the whole 
matter, and that some people should be forced to produce 
the girl. 

These calumnies might have probably produced ill con 



46 


THE HI ST OR Y OF 


sequences, at the least might have occasioned some trouble, 
to a person of a more doubtful and suspicious character 
than Mr. Allworthy was blessed with ; but in his case they 
had no such effect ; and, being heartily despised by him, 
they served only to afford an innocent amusement to the 
good gossips of the neighborhood. 

But as we cannot possibly divine what complexion our 
reader may be of, and as it will be some time before he will 
hear any more of Jenny, we think proper to give him a 
very early intimation that Mr. All worthy was, and will 
hereafter appear to be, absolutely innocent of any criminal 
intention whatever. He had indeed committed no other 
than an error in politics, by tempering justice with mercy, 
and by refusing to gratify the good-natured disposition of 
the mob,* with an object for their compassion to work on 
in the person of poor Jenny, whom, in order to pity, they 
desired to have seen sacrificed to ruin and infamy, by a 
shameful correction in Bridewell. 

So far from complying with this their inclination, by 
which all hopes of reformation would have been abolished, 
and even the gate shut against her if her own inclinations 
should ever hereafter lead her to choose the road of virtue, 
Mr. Allworthy rather chose to encourage the girl to return 
thither by the only possible means ; for too true I am 
afraid it is, that many women have become abandoned, and 
have sunk to the last degree of vice, by being unable to 
retrieve the first slip. This will be, T am afraid, always the 
case while they remain among their former acquaintance ; 
it was therefore wisely done by Mr. Allworthy, to remove 
Jenny to a place where she might enjoy the pleasure of 
reputation, after having tasted the ill consequences of los¬ 
ing it. 

* Whenever this word occurs in our writings it intends persons with- . 
out virtue or sense, in all stations ; and many of tlie highest rank are often 
meant by it. 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


47 


To this place, therefore, wherever it was, we will wish 
her a good journey, and for the present take leave of her, 
and of the little foundling her child, having matters of 
much higher importance to communicate to the reader. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE HOSPITALITY OF ALLWORTHY ; WITH A SHORT SKETCH OF 

THE CHARACTERS OF TWO BROTHERS, A DOCTOR AND A 

CAPTAIN, WHO WERE ENTERTAINED BY THAT GENTLEMAN. 

Neither Mr. Allworthy’s house nor his heart were shut 
against any part of mankind, but they were both more par¬ 
ticularly open to men of merit. To say the truth, this was 
the only house in the kingdom where you were sure to gain 
a dinner by deserving it. 

Above all others, men of genius and learning shared the 
principal place in his favor ; and in these he had much 
discernment : for though he had missed the advantage of 
a learned education, yet, being blest with vast natural abili¬ 
ties, he had so well profited by a vigorous though late 
application to letters, and by much conversation with men 
of eminence in this way, that he was himself a very com¬ 
petent judge in most kinds of literature. 

It is no wonder that in an age when this kind of merit is 
so little in fashion, and so slenderly provided for, persons 
possessed of it should very eagerly flock to a place where 
they were sure of being received with great complacence ; 
indeed, where they might enjoy almost the same advan¬ 
tages of a liberal fortune as if they were entitled to it in 
their own right ; for Mr. All worthy was not one of those 
generous persons who are ready most bountifully to bestow 
meat, drink, and lodging on men of wit and learning, for 
which they expect no other return but entertainment, in¬ 
struction, flattery, and subserviency ; in a word, that such 


48 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


persons should be enrolled in the number of domestics, 
without wearing their master’s clothes or receiving wages. 

On the contrary, every person in this house was perfect 
master of his own time : and as he might at his pleasure 
satisfy all his appetites within the restrictions only of law, 
virtue, and religion, so he might, if his health required, 
or his inclination prompted him to temperance, or even to 
abstinence, absent himself from any meals, or retire from 
them, whenever he was so disposed, without even a solic¬ 
itation to the contrary : for, indeed, such solicitations from 
superiors always savor very strongly of commands. But 
all here were free from such impertinence, not only those 
whose company is in all other places esteemed a favor from 
their equality of fortune, but even those whose indigent 
circumstances make such an eleemosynary abode convenient 
to them, and who are therefore less welcome to a great 
man’s table because they stand in need of it. 

Among others of this kind was Dr. Blifil, a gentleman 
who had the misfortune of losing the advantage of great 
talents by the obstinancy of a father, who would breed him 
to a profession he disliked. In obedience to this obstinacy 
the doctor had in his youth been obliged to study physic, 
or rather to say he studied it ; for in reality books of this 
kind were almost the only ones with which he was unac¬ 
quainted ; and unfortunately for him, the doctor was 
master of almost every other science but that by which he 
was to get his bread ; the consequence of which was, that 
the doctor at the age of forty had no bread to eat. 

Such a person as thi» was certain to find a welcome at 
Mr. Allworthy’s table, to whom misfortunes were ever a 
recommendation, when they were derived from the folly or 
villainy of others, and not of the unfortunate person him¬ 
self. Besides this negative merit, the doctor had one posi¬ 
tive recommendation ;—this was a great appearance of 
religion. Whether his religion was real, or consisted only 


TOM JOMJES: A FO UNDLIMG. 


49 


in appearance, I shall not presume to say, as I am not 
possessed of any touchstone which can distinguish the true 
from the false. 

If this part of his character pleased Mr. Allworthy, it 
delighted Miss Bridget. She engaged him in many relig¬ 
ious controversises, on which occasions she constantly ex¬ 
pressed great satisfaction in the doctor’s knowledge, and 
not much less in the compliments which lie frequently 
bestowed on her own. To say the truth, she had read much 
English divinity, and had puzzled more than one of the 
neighboring curates. Indeed, her conversation was so 
pure, her looks so sage, and her whole deportment so grave 
and solemn, that she seemed to deserve the name of saint 
equally with her namesake, or with any other female in the 
Roman calendar. 

As sympathies of all kinds are apt to beget love, so 
experience teaches us that none have a more direct ten¬ 
dency this way than those of a religious kind between 
persons of different sexes. The doctor found himself so 
agreeable to Miss Bridget, that he now began to lament an 
unfortunate accident which had happened to him about 
ten years before ; namely, his marriage with another 
woman, who was not only still alive, but, what was worse, 
known to be so by Mr. Allwortliy. This was a fatal bai 
to that happiness which he otherwise saw sufficient proba¬ 
bility of obtaining with this young lady ; for as to criminal 
indulgences, he certainly never thought of them. This was 
owing either to his religion, as is most probable, or to the 
purity of his passion, which was fixed on those things 
which matrimony only, and not criminal correspondence, 
could put him in possession of, or could give him any 
title to. 

He had not long ruminated on these matters, before it 
occurred to his memory that he had a brother who was 
under no such unhappy incapacity. This brother he made 


50 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


no doubt would succeed ; for he discerned, as he thought, 
an inclination to marriage in the lady ; and the reader 
perhaps, when he hears the brother’s qualifications, will 
not blame the confidence which he entertained of his suc¬ 
cess. 

This gentleman was about thirty-five years of age. He 
was of a middle size, and what is called well-built. He 
had a scar on his forehead, which did not so much injure 
his beauty as it denoted his valor (for he was a half-pay 
officer). He had good teeth, and something affable, when 
he pleased, in his smile ; though naturally his countenance, 
as well as his air and voice, had much of roughness in it : 
yet he could at any time deposit this, and appear all gentle¬ 
ness and good-liumor. He was not ungenteel, nor entirely 
devoid of wit, and in his youth had abounded in spriglit- 
liness, which, though he had lately put on a more serious 
character, he could, when he pleased, resume. 

He had, as well as the doctor, an academic education ; 
for his father had, with the same paternal authority we 
have mentioned before, decreed him for liolv orders ; but 
as the old gentleman died before he was ordained, he 
chose the church military, and preferred the king’s com¬ 
mission to the bishop’s. 

He had purchased the post of lieutenant of dragoons, 
and afterwards came to be a captain ; but 1 laving quarrelled 
with his colonel, was by his interest obliged to sell, from 
which time he had entirely rusticated himself, had.betaken 
himself to studying the scriptures, and was not a little sus¬ 
pected of an inclination to Methodism. 

It seemed, therefore, not unlikely that such a person 
should succeed with a lady of so saint-like a disposition, 
and whose inclinations were no otherwise engaged than to 
the marriage state in general ; but why the doctor, who 
certainly had no great friendship for his brother, should 
for his sake think of making so ill a return to the hospital 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 51 

it y of All worthy, is a matter not so easy to be accounted 
for. 

Is it that some natures delight in evil, as others are 
thought to delight in virtue ? Or is there a pleasure in 
being accessory to a theft when we cannot commit it our¬ 
selves ? Or lastly (which experience seems to make prob¬ 
able), have we a satisfaction in aggrandizing our families, 
even though we have not the least love or respect for 
them ? 

Whether any of these motives operated on the doctor, 
we will not determine ; but so the fact was. He sent for 
his brother, and easily found means to introduce him at 
Allworthy’s as a person who intended only a short visit to 
himself. 

The captain had not been in the house a week before 
the doctor had reason to felicitate himself on his discern¬ 
ment. The captain was indeed as great a master of the 
art of love as Ovid was formerly. He had besides received 
proper hints from his brother, which he failed not to im¬ 
prove to the best advantage. 

CHAPTER XI. 

CONTAINING MANY RULES, AND SOME EXAMPLES, CONCERN¬ 
ING FALLING IN LOVE : DESCRIPTIONS OF BEAUTY, AND 

OTHER MORE PRUDENTIAL INDUCEMENTS TO MATRIMONY. 

It hath been observed, by wise men or women, I forget 
which, that all persons are doomed to be in love once in 
their lives. No particular season is, as I remember, 
assigned for this ; but the age at which Miss Bridget was 
arrived seems to me as proper a period as any to be fixed 
on for this purpose : it often, indeed, happens much 
earlier ; but when it doth not, I have observed it seldom 
or never fails about this time. Moreover, we may remark 



52 


THE HIS TOE Y OF 


that at this season love is of a more serious and steady 
nature than what sometimes shows itself in the younger 
parts of life. The love of girls is uncertain, capricious, 
and so foolish that we cannot always discover what the 
young lady would he at ; nay, it may almost be doubted 
whether she always knows this herself. 

Now we are never at a loss to discern this in women 
about forty ; for as such grave, serious, and experienced 
ladies well know their own meaning, so it is always very 
easy for a man of the least sagacity to discover this with 
the utmost certainty. 

Miss Bridget is an example of all these observations. 
She had not been many times in the captain’s company 
before she was seized with this passion. Nor did she go 
pining and moping about the house, like a puny, foolish 
girl, ignorant of her distemper : she felt, she knew, and 
she enjoyed, the pleasing sensation, of which, as she was 
certain it was not only innocent but laudable, she was 
neither afraid nor ashamed. 

And to say the truth, there is, in all points, great differ¬ 
ence between the reasonable passion which women at this 
age conceive towards men, and the idle and childish liking 
of a girl to a boy, which is often fixed on the outside only, 
and on things of little value and no duration ; as on 
cherry-cheeks, small, lily-white hands, sloe-black eyes, flow¬ 
ing locks, downy chins, dapper shapes ; nay, sometimes on 
charms more worthless than these, and less the party’s 
own ; such are the outward ornaments of the person, for 
which men are beholden to the tailor, the laceman, the 
periwig-maker, the hatter, and the milliner, and not to 
nature. Such a passion girls may well be ashamed, as they 
generally are, to own either to themselves or others. 

The love of Miss Bridget was of another kind. The cap¬ 
tain owed nothing to any of these fop-makers in his dress, 
nor was his person much more beholden to nature. Both 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


53 


his dress and person were such as, had they appeared in an 
assembly or a drawing-room, would have been the contempt 
and ridicule of all the tine ladies there. The former of 
these was indeed neat, but plain, coarse, ill-fancied, and 
out of fashion. As for the latter, we have expressly de¬ 
scribed it above. So far was the skin on his cheeks from 
being cherry-colored, that you could not discern what the 
natural color of his cheeks was, they being totally overgrown 
by a black beard which ascended to his eyes. His shape 
and limbs were indeed exactly proportioned, but so large 
that they denoted the strength rather of a ploughman than 
any other. His shoulders were broad beyond all size, and 
the calves of his legs larger than those of a common chair¬ 
man. In short his whole person wanted all that elegance 
and beauty which is the very reverse of clumsy strength, 
and which so agreeably sets off most of our fine gentlemen ; 
being partly owing to the high blood of their ancestors, 
viz., blood made of rich sauces and generous wines, and 
partly to an early town education. 

Though Miss Bridget was a woman of the greatest deli¬ 
cacy of taste, yet such were the charms of the captain’s 
conversation, that she totally overlooked the defects of his 
person. She imagined, and perhaps very wisely, that she 
should enjoy more agreeable minutes with the captain than 
with a much prettier fellow ; and forewent the considera¬ 
tion of pleasing her eyes, in order to procure herself much 
more solid satisfaction. 

The captain no sooner perceived the passion of Miss 
Bridget, in which discovery he was very quick-sighted, 
than he faithfully returned it. The lady, no more than her 
lover, was remarkable for beauty. I would attempt to 
draw her picture, but that is done already by a more able 
master, Mr. Hogarth himself, to >vhom she sat many years 
ago, and hath been lately exhibited by that gentleman in 
his print of a winter’s morning, of which she was no im- 


54 


THE II 1ST OR Y OF 


proper emblem, and may be seen walking (for walk she 
doth in the print) to Covent-garden church, with a starved 
foot-boy behind carrying her prayer-book. 

The captain likewise very wisely preferred the more solid 
enjoyments he expected with this lady, to the fleeting 
charms of person. He was one of those wise men who 
regard beauty in the other sex as a very worthless and 
superficial qualification ; or, to speak more truly, who 
rather chose to possess every convenience of life with an 
ugly woman, than a handsome one without any of those 
conveniences. And having a very good appetite, and but 
little nicety, he fancied he should play his part very well at 
the matrimonial banquet, without the sauce of beauty. 

To deal plainly with the reader, the captain, ever since 
his arrival, at least from the moment his brother had pro¬ 
posed the match to him, long before he had discovered any 
flattering symptoms in Miss Bridget, had been greatly 
enamored ; that is to say, of Mr. Allworthy’s house and 
gardens, and of his lands, tenements, and hereditaments ; 
of all which the captain was so passionately fond, that he 
would most probably have contracted marriage with them, 
had he been obliged to have taken the witch of Endor into 
the bargain. 

As Mr. Allworthy, therefore, had declared to the doctor 
that he never intended to take a second wife, as his sister 
was his nearest relation, and as the doctor had fished out 
that his intentions were to make any child of hers his heir, 
which indeed the law, without his interposition, would have 
done for him, the doctor and his brother thought it an act 
of benevolence to give being to a human creature who 
would be so plentifully provided with the most essential 
means of happiness. The whole thoughts, therefore, of 
both the brothers were how to engage the affections of this 
amiable lady. 

But fortune, who is a tender parent, and often dotli more 


55 


TOM JOKES: A FOUNDLING. 

for her favorite offspring than either they deserve or wish, 
had been so industrious for the captain, that whilst lie was 
laying schemes to execute his purpose, the lady conceived 
the same desires with himself, and was on her side con¬ 
triving how to give the captain proper encouragement, 
without appearing too forward ; for she was a strict ob¬ 
server of all rules of decorum. In this, however, she easily 
succeeded ; for as the captain was always on the lookout, 
no glance, gesture, or word escaped him. 

The satisfaction which the captain received from the 
kind behavior of Miss Bridget was not a little abated by 
his apprehensions of Mr. Allworthy ; for, notwithstanding 
his disinterested professions, the captain imagined he would, 
when he came to act, follow the example of the rest of the 
world, and refuse his consent to a match so disadvantage¬ 
ous, in point of interest, to his sister. From what oracle he 
received this opinion I shall leave the reader to determine ; 
but however he came by it, it strangely perplexed him how 
to regulate his conduct so as at once to convey his affection 
to the lady and to conceal it from her brother. He at 
length resolved to take all private opportunities of making 
his addresses ; but in the presence of Mr. Allworthy to be 
as reserved and as much upon his guard as was possible ; 
and this conduct was highly approved by the brother. 

He soon found means to make his addresses, in express 
terms, to his mistress, from whom he received an answer 
in the proper form, viz., the answer which was first made 
some thousands of years ago, and which hath been handed 
down by tradition from mother to daughter ever since. If 
I was to translate this into Latin, I should render it by these 
two words, Nono Episcopari: a phrase likewise of imme¬ 
morial use on another occasion. 

The captain, however he came by his knowledge, per¬ 
fectly well understood the lady, and very soon after re¬ 
peated his application with more warmth and earnestness 



56 


THE HISTORY OF 


than before, and was again, according to due form, re¬ 
jected ; but as lie had increased in the eagerness of his de¬ 
sires, so the lady, with the same propriety, decreased in 
the violence of her refusal. 

Not to tire the reader by leading him through every 
scene of this courtship (which, though in the opinion of a 
certain great author it is the pleasantest scene of life to the 
actor, is, perhaps, as dull and tiresome as any whatever to 
the audience), the captain made his advances in form, the 
citadel was defended in form, and at length, in proper 
form, surrendered at discretion. 

During this whole time, which tilled the space of near a 
month, the captain preserved great distance of behavior to 
his lady in the presence of the brother ; and the more he 
succeeded with her in private, the more reserved was he in 
public. And as for the lady, she had no sooner secured 
her lover, than she behaved to him before company with 
the higlitest degree of indifference ; so that Mr. Allwortliy 
must have had the insight of the devil (or perhaps some of 
his worse qualities) to have entertained the least suspicion 
of what was going forward. 

CHAPTER XII. 

CONTAINING WHAT THE READER MAY, PERHAPS, EXPECT TO 

FIND IN IT. 

In all bargains, whether to fight or to marry, or con¬ 
cerning any other such business, little previous ceremony is 
required to bring the matter to an issue, when both par¬ 
ties are really in earnest. This was the case at present, 
and in less than a month the captain and his lady were man 
and wife. 

The great concern now was to break the matter to Mr. 
Allorthy ; and this was undertaken by the doctor. 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


57 


One day, then, as Allworthy was walking in his garden, 
the doctor came to him, and, with great gravity of aspect, 
and all the concern which he could possibly affect in his 
countenance, said, “ I am come, sir, to impart an affair to 
you of the utmost consequence ; but how shall I mention 
to you what it almost distracts me to think of !” He 
then launched forth into the most bitter invectives both 
against men and women ; accusing the former of having 
no attachment but to their interest, and the latter of being 
so addicted to vicious inclinations, that they could never 
be safely trusted with one of the other sex. “ Could I,” 
said he, ‘ 6 sir, have suspected that a lady of such pru¬ 
dence, such judgment, such learning, should indulge so 
indiscreet a passion ! or could I have imagined that my 
brother—why do I call him so ? he is no longer a brother 
of mine—” 

‘ 6 Indeed but he is, ’ ’ said Allworthy, 6 6 and a brother of 
mine too. ’ ’ 

“ Bless me, sir !” said the doctor, “ do you know the 
shocking affair 

“ Look’ee, Mr. Blifil,” answered the good man; “it 
hath been my constant maxim in life to make the best of all 
matters which happen. My sister, though many years 
younger than me, is at least old enough to be at the age of 
discretion. Had he imposed on a child, I should have been 
more averse to have forgiven him ; but a woman upwards 
of thirty must certainly be supposed to know what will 
make her most happy. She hath married a gentleman, 
though perhaps not quite her equal in fortune ; and if he 
hath any perfections in her eye which can make up for that 
deficiency, I see no reason why I should object to her 
choice of her own happiness ; which I, no more than her¬ 
self, imagine to consist only in immense wealth. I might, 
perhaps, from the many declarations I have made, of 
complying with almost any proposal, have expected to have 






58 


-tup: history of 


been consulted on this occasion ; but these matters are of a 
very delicate nature, and the scruples of modesty, perhaps, 
are not to he overcome. As to your brother, I have really 
no anger against him at all. He hath no obligations to me, 
nor do I think he was under any necessity of asking my 
consent, since the woman is, as I have said, sui juris , and 
of a proper age to be entirely answerable only to herself for 
her conduct.” 

The doctor repeated his accusations against his brother, 
accused Mr. Allworthy of too great lenity, and declared 
that he should never more be brought either to see or to 
own him for his relation. He then launched forth into a 
panegyric on Allworthy’s goodness ; into the highest 
encomiums on his friendship ; and concluded by saying he 
should never forgive his brother for having put the place 
which he bore in that friendship to a hazard. 

Allworthy thus answered : “ Had I conceived any dis¬ 
pleasure against your brother, I should never have carried 
that resentment to the innocent : but I assure you I have 
no such displeasure. Your brother appears to me to be a 
man of sense and honor. I do not disapprove the taste of 
my sister ; nor will I doubt but that she is equally the ob¬ 
ject of his inclinations. I have always thought love the 
only foundation of happiness in a married state, as it can 
only produce that high and tender friendship which should 
always be the cement of this union ; and, in my opinion, 
all those marriages which are contracted from other mo¬ 
tives are greatly criminal ; they are a profanation of a most 
holy ceremony, and generally end in disquiet and misery : 
for surely we may call it a profanation to convert this most 
sacred institution into a wicked sacrifice to lust or avarice : 
and what better can be said of those matches to which men 
are induced merely by the consideration of a beautiful per- 
eon or a great fortune ? 

“ To deny that beauty is an agreeable object to the eye 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 59 

and even worthy some admiration, would be false and fool¬ 
ish. Beautiful is an epithet often used in Scripture, and 
always mentioned with honor. It was my own fortune to 
marry a woman whom the world thought handsome, and 1 
can truly say I liked her the better on that account. But 
to make this the sole consideration of marriage, to lust after 
it so violently as to overlook all imperfections for its sake, 
or to require it so absolutely as to reject and disdain relig¬ 
ion, virtue, and sense, which are qualities in their nature 
• of much higher perfection, because an elegance of person 
only is wanting : this is surely inconsistent, either with a 
wise man or a good Christian. And it is, perhaps, being 
loo charitable to conclude that such persons mean anything 
more by their marriage than to please their carnal appe¬ 
tites ; for the satisfaction of which, we are taught, it was 
not ordained. 

u In the next place, with respect to fortune. Worldly 
prudence, perhaps, exacts some consideration on this head ; 
nor will I absolutely and altogether condemn it. As the 
world is constituted, the demands of a married state, and 
the care of posterity, require some little regard to what we 
call circumstances. Yet this provision is greatly increased, 
beyond what is really necessary, by folly and vanity, 
which create abundantly more wants than nature. Equip¬ 
age for the wife, and large fortunes for the children, are by 
custom enrolled in the list of necessaries ; and to procure 
these, everything truly solid and sweet, and virtuous and 
religious, are neglected and overlooked. 

“ And this in many degrees ; the last and greatest of 
which seems scarce distinguishable from madness ;—I mean 
where persons of immense fortunes contract themselves to 
those who are, and must be, disagreeable to them—to fools 
and knaves—in order to increase an estate already larger 
even than the demands of their pleasures. Surely such 
persons, if they will not be thought mad, must own, either 




60 


THE HISTOU Y OF 

that they are incapable of tasting the sweets of the tender - 
est friendship, or that they sacrifice the greatest happiness 
of which they are capable to the vain, uncertain, and sense¬ 
less laws of vulgar opinion, which owe as well their force as 
their foundation to folly. ’ ’ 

Here Allworthy concluded his sermon, to which Blifil 
had listened with the profoundest attention, though it cost 
him some pains to prevent now and then a small discom¬ 
posure of his muscles. He now praised every period of 
what he had heard with the warmth of a young divine who 
hath the honor to dine with a bishop the same day in which 
his lordship hath mounted the pulpit. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

WHICH CONCLUDES THE FIRST BOOK : WITH AN INSTANCE OE 
INGRATITUDE, WHICH, WE HOPE, WILL APPEAR UNNATU¬ 
RAL. 

The reader, from what hath been said, may imagine that 
the reconciliation (if indeed it could be so called) was only 
matter of form ; we shall therefore pass it over, and hasten 
to what must surely be thought matter of substance. 

The doctor had acquainted his brother with what had 
passed between Mr. Allworthy and him ; and added with a 
smile, “ I promise you I paid you off ; nay, I absolutely 
desired the good gentleman not to forgive you : for you 
know, after he had made a declaration in your favor, I 
might with safety venture on such a request with a person 
of his temper ; and I was willing, as w r ell for your sake as 
for my own, to prevent the least possibility of a suspicion. ” 
Captain Blifil took not the least notice of this, at that 
time ; but he afterwards made a very notable use of it. 

One of the maxims which the devil, in a late visit upon 
earth, left to his disciples, is, when once you are got up, to 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


61 


kick the stool from under you. In plain English, when 
you have made your fortune by the good offices of a friend, 
you are advised to discard him as soon as you can. 

Whether the captain acted by this maxim, I will not pos¬ 
itively determine : so far we may confidently say, that his 
actions may be fairly derived from this diabolical principle ; 
and indeed it is difficult to assign any other motive to them : 
for no sooner was he possessed of Miss Bridget, and recon¬ 
ciled to Allworthy, than he began to show a coldness to his 
brother which increased daily ; till at length it grew into 
rudeness, and became very visible to every one. 

The doctor remonstrated to him privately concerning 
this behavior, but could obtain no other satisfaction than 
the following plain declaration : “If you dislike anything 
in my brother’s house, sir, you know you are at liberty to 
quit it.” This strange, cruel, and almost unaccountable 
ingratitude in the captain, absolutely broke the poor doc¬ 
tor’s heart ; for ingratitude never so thoroughly pierces the 
human breast as when it proceeds from those in whose be¬ 
half we have been guilty of transgressions. Reflections on 
great and good actions, however they are received or re¬ 
turned by those in whose favor they are performed, always 
administer some comfort to us ; but what consolation shall 
we receive under so biting a calamity as the ungrateful be¬ 
havior of our friend, when our wounded conscience at the 
same time flies in our face, and upbraids us with having 
spotted it in the service of one so worthless ! 

Mr. Allworthy himself spoke to the captain in his 
brother’s behalf, and desired to know what offence the doc¬ 
tor had committed ; when the hard-hearted villain had the 
baseness to say that he should never forgive him for the 
injury which he had endeavored to do him in his favor ; 
which, he said, he had pumped out of him, and was such a 
cruelty that it ought not to be forgiven. 

Allworthy spoke in very high terms upon this declaration, 


62 


THE HISTORY OF 


which he said became not a human creature. He expressed, 
indeed, so much resentment against an unforgiving temper, 
that the captain at last pretended to be convinced by his 
arguments, and outwardly professed to be reconciled. 

As for the bride, she was now. in her honeymoon, and so 
passionately fond of her new husband that he never ap¬ 
peared to her to be in the wrong ; and his displeasure 
against any person was a sufficient reason for her dislike to 
the same. 

The captain, at Mr. Allworthy’s instance, was outwardly, 
as we have said, reconciled to his brother; yet the same 
rancor remained in his heart; and he found so many oppor¬ 
tunities of giving him private hints of this, that the house 
at last grew insupportable to the poor doctor, and he chose 
rather to submit to any inconveniences which he might 
encounter in the world, than longer to bear these cruel and 
ungrateful insults from a brother for whom he had done so 
much. 

He once intended to acquaint Allworthy with the whole ; 
but he could not bring himself to submit to the confession, 
by which he must take to his share so great a portion of 
guilt. Besides, by how much the worse man he represented 
his brother to be, so much the greater would his own offence 
appear to Allworthy, and so much the greater, had he rea¬ 
son to imagine, would be his resentment. 

He feigned, therefore, some excuse of business for his 
departure, and promised to return soon again ; and took 
leave of his brother with so well-dissembled content, that, 
as the captain played his part to the same perfection, All- 
wortliy remained well satisfied with the truth of the recon¬ 
ciliation. 

The doctor went directly to London, where he died soon 
after of a broken heart ; a distemper which kills many 
more than is generally imagined, and would have a fair 
title to a place in the bill of mortality, did it not differ in 


TOM JONES: A FO UNI) L TNG. 63 

one instance from all otlier diseases—viz., That no physician 
can cure it. 

Now, upon the most diligent inquiry into the former 
lives of these two brothers, I find, besides the cursed and 
hellish maxim of policy above mentioned, another reason 
for the captain’s conduct : the captain, besides what we 
have before said of him, was a man of great pride and fierce¬ 
ness, and had always treated his brother, who was of a 
different complexion, and greatly deficient in both these 
qualities, with the utmost air of superiority. The doctor, 
however, had much the larger share of learning, and was 
by many reputed to have the better understanding. This 
the captain knew, and could not bear ; for though envy is 
at best a very malignant passion, yet is its bitterness greatly 
heightened by mixing with contempt towards the same 
object ; and very much afraid I am, that whenever an ob¬ 
ligation is joined to these two, indignation and not grati 
tude will be the product of all three. 



BOOK IL 


CONTAINING SCENES OF MATRIMONIAL FELICITY IN DIFFERENT DE 
GREES OF LIFE ; AND VARIOUS OTHER TRANSACTIONS DURING 
THE FIRST TWO YEARS AFTER THE MARRIAGE BETWEEN CAPTAIN 
BLIFIL AND MISS BRIDGET ALLWORTHY. 


CHAPTER I. 

SHOWING WHAT KIND OF A HISTORY THIS IS ; WHAT IT IS 
LIKE, AND WHAT IT IS NOT LIKE. 

Though we have properly enough entitled this onr work, 
a history, and not a life ; nor an apology for a life, as is 
more in fashion ; yet we intend in it rather to pursue the 
method of those writers who profess to disclose the revo¬ 
lutions of countries, than to imitate the painful and volumi¬ 
nous historian who, to preserve the regularity of his series, 
thinks himself obliged to fill up as much paper with the 
detail of months and years in which nothing remarkable 
happened, as he employs upon those notable eras when the 
greatest scenes have been transacted on the human stage. 

Such histories as these do, in reality, very much resem¬ 
ble a newspaper, which consists of just the same number of 
words, whether there be any news in it or not. They may 
likewise be compared to a stage coach, which performs 
constantly the same course, empty as well as full. The 
writer, indeed, seems to think himself obliged to keep even 
pace with time, whose amanuensis he is ; and, like his mas¬ 
ter, travels as slowly through centuries of monkish dulness, 
when the world seems to have been asleep, as through that 
bright and busy age so nobly distinguished by the excel¬ 
lent Latin poet—* 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING , 


05 


Ad confligendum venientibus undique poenis, 

Omnia cum belli trepido concussa tumultu 
Horrida contremuere sub altis adheris auris; 

In dubioquefuit sub titrorum regna cadendum 
Omnibus humanis esset , terraque marique. 

Of which we wish we could give our readers a more ade 
quate translation than that by Mr. Creech : 

When dreadful Carthage frighted Rome with arms, 

And all the world was shook with fierce alarms ; 

Whilst undecided yet which part should fall, 

Which nation rise the glorious lord of all. 

Now it is our purpose, in the ensuing pages, to pursue a 
contrary method. When any extraordinary scene presents 
itself (as we trust will often be the case), we shall spare no 
pains nor paper to open it at large to our reader ; hut if 
whole years should pass without producing anything worthy 
his notice, we shall not be afraid of a chasm in our history ; 
but shall hasten on to matters of consequence, and leave 
such periods of time totally unobserved. 

These are indeed to be considered as blanks in the grand 
lottery of time. We, therefore, who are the registers of 
that lottery, shall imitate those sagacious persons who deal 
in that which is drawn at Guildhall, and who never trouble 
the public with the many blanks they dispose of ; but when 
a great prize happens to be drawn, the newspapers are pres¬ 
ently filled with it, and the world is sure to he informed at 
whose office it was sold : indeed, commonly two or three 
different offices lay claim to the honor of having disposed 
of it ; by which, I suppose, the adventurers are given to 
understand that certain brokers are in the secrets of For¬ 
tune, and indeed of her cabinet council. 

My reader then is not to be surprised if, in the course 
of this work, he shall find some chapters very short, and 
others altogether as long : some that contain only the time 
of a single day, and others that comprise years ; in a word, 


THE HISTORY OF 


GO 

if my history sometimes seems to stand still, and someth, 
to fly. For all which I shall not look on myself as account¬ 
able to any court of critical jurisdiction whatever : for as 1 
am, in reality, the founder of a new province of writing, so 
I am at liberty to make what laws I please therein. And 
these laws my readers, whom I consider as my subjects, 
are bound to believe in and to obey ; with which that they 
may readily and cheerfully comply, I do hereby assure 
them that I shall principally regard their ease and advan¬ 
tage in- all such institutions ; for I do not, like a jure di- 
vino tyrant, imagine that they are my slaves, or my com¬ 
modity. I am, indeed, set over them for their own good 
only, and was created for their use, and not they for mine. 
Nor do I doubt, while I make their interest the great rule 
of my writings, they will unanimously concur in support¬ 
ing my dignity, and in rendering me all the honor I shall 
deserve or desire. 


CHAPTER II. 

RELIGIOUS CAUTIONS AGAINST SHOWING TOO MUCH FAVOR TO 
BASTARDS ; AND A GREAT DISCOVERY MADE BY MRS. DE¬ 
BORAH WILKINS. 

Eight months after the celebration of the nuptials be¬ 
tween Captain Blifil and Miss Bridget Allworthy, a young 
lady of great beauty, merit, and fortune, was Miss Bridget, 
by reason of a fright, delivered of a fine boy. The child 
was indeed to all appearances perfect ; but the midwife 
discovered it was born a month before its full time. 

Though the birth of an heir of his beloved sister was a 
circumstance of great joy to Mr. All worthy, yet it did not 
alienate his affections from the little foundling, to whom he 
had been godfather, had given his own name of Tliomas- 
and whom he had hitherto seldom failed of visiting, at least 
once a day, in liis nursery. 


6 ? 


TOM JONES:, A FOUND TWO. 

He told his sister, if she pleased, the new-born infant 
should be bred up together with little Tommy ; to which 
she consented, though with some little reluctance : for she 
had truly a great complacence for her brother ; and hence 
she had always behaved towards the foundling with rather 
more kindness than ladies of rigid virtue can sometimes 
bring themselves to show to these children, who, however 
innocent, may be truly called the living monuments of in¬ 
continence. 

The captain could not so easily bring himself to bear 
what he condemned as a fault in Mr. Allworthy. He gave 
him frequent hints that to adopt the fruits of siu was to 
give countenance to it. He quoted several texts (for he 
was well read in Scripture), such as, lie visits the sins of 
the fathers upon the children / and the fathers have eaten 
sour jrapes, and the children' 1 s teeth are set on edge , etc. 
Whence he argued the legality of punishing the crime of 
the parent on the bastard. He said, “ Though the law did 
not positively allow the destroying such base-born children, 
yet it held them to be the children of nobody : that the 
Church considered them as the children of nobody ; and 
that at the best they ought to be brought up to the lowest 
and vilest offices of the commonwealth. 

Mr. Allworthy answered to all this, and much more, 
which the captain had urged on this subject, “ That, how¬ 
ever guilty the parents might be, the children were cer¬ 
tainly innocent : that as to the texts he had quoted, the 
former of them was a particular denunciation against the 
Jews, for the sin of idolatry, of relinquishing and hating 
their heavenly King ; and the latter was parabolically 
spoken, and rather intended to denote the certain and nec¬ 
essary consequences of sin, than any exjwess judgment 
against it. But to represent the Almighty as avenging the 
sins of the guilty on the innocent, was indecent, if not 
blasphemous, as it was to represent him acting against the 





68 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


first principles of natural justice, and against tlie original 
notions of right and wrong, which he himself had implanted 
in our minds, by which we were to judge not only in all 
matters which were not revealed, but even of the truth of 
revelation itself. He said he knew many held the same 
principles with the captain on this head ; hut he was him¬ 
self firmly convinced to the contrary, and would provide in 
the same manner for this poor infant as if a legitimate 
child had had the fortune to have been found in the same 
place. 

While the captain was taking all opportunities to press 
these and such like arguments, to remove the little found¬ 
ling from Mr. Allworthy’s, of whose fondness for him he 
began to be jealous, Mrs. Deborah had made a discovery, 
which, in its event, threatened at least to prove more fatal 
to poor Tommy than all the reasonings of the captain. 

Whether the insatiable curiosity of this good woman had 
carried her on to that business, or whether she did it to con¬ 
firm herself in the good graces of Mrs. Blifil, who, not¬ 
withstanding her outward behavior to the foundling, fre¬ 
quently abused the infant in private, and her brother too, 
for his fondness to it, I will not determine ; but she had 
now, as she conceived, fully detected the father of the 
foundling. 

N ow, as this was a discovery of great consequence, it may 
be necessary to trace it from the fountain-head. We shall 
therefore very minutely lay open those previous matters by 
which it was produced ; and for that purpose we shall be 
obliged to reveal all the secrets of a little family with which 
my reader is at present entirely unacquainted ; and of 
which the economy was so rare and extraordinary, that I 
fear it will shock the utmost credulity ol many married 
persons. 


TOM J ONES: A FO UNDLING . 


69 


CHAPTER III. 

THE DESCRIPTION OF A DOMESTIC GOVERNMENT FOUNDED 
UPON RULES DIRECTLY CONTRARY TO THOSE OF ARISTOTLE. 

My reader may please to remember lie hath been informed 
that Jenny Jones had lived some years with a certain 
schoolmaster, who had, at her earnest desire, instructed 
her in Latin, in which, to do justice to her genius, she had 
so improved herself, that she was become a better scholar 
than her master. 

Indeed, though this poor man had undertaken a profes¬ 
sion to which learning must be allowed necessary, this was 
the least of his commendations. lie was one of the best- 
natured fellows in the world, and was, at the same time, 
master of so much pleasantry and humor, that lie was re¬ 
puted the wit of the country ; and all the neighboring gen¬ 
tlemen were so desirious of his company, that as denying 
was not his talent, he spent much time at their houses, 
which he might, with more emolument, have spent in his 
school. 

It may be imagined that a gentleman so qualified and so 
disposed was in no danger of becoming formidable to the 
learned seminaries of Eton or Westminster. To speak 
plainly, his scholars were divided into two classes : in the 
upper of which was a young gentleman, the son of a neigh¬ 
boring squire, who, at the age of seventeen, was just 
entered into his Syntaxis ; and in the lower was a second 
son of the same gentleman, who, together with seven parish 
boys, was learning to read and write. 

The stipend arising hence would hardly have indulged 
the schoolmaster in the luxuries of life, had he not added 
to this office those of clerk and barber, and had not Mr. 
Allworthy added to the whole an annuity of ten pounds, 


70 


THE IIISTOUT OF 


which the poor man received every Christmas, and with 
which he was enabled to cheer his heart during that sacred 
festival. 

Among his other treasures, the pedagogue had a wife, 
whom he had married out of Mr. Allworthy’s kitchen for 
her fortune, viz., twenty pounds, which she had there 
amassed. 

This woman was not very amiable in her person. Whether 
she sat to my friend Hogarth, or no, I will not determine ; 
but she exactly resembled the young woman who is pour¬ 
ing out her mistress’s tea in the third picture of the Har¬ 
lot’s Progress. She was, besides, a professed follower of 
that noble sect founded by Xantippe of old ; by means of 
which she became more formidable in the school than her 
husband ; for, to confess the truth, he was never master 
there, or anywhere else, in her presence. 

Though her countenance did not denote much natural 
sweetness of temper, yet this w r as, perhaps, somewhat 
soured by a circumstance which generally poisons matri¬ 
monial felicity ; for children are rightly called the pledges 
of love ; and her husband, though they had been married 
nine years, had given her no such pledges ; a default for 
which he had no excuse, either from age or health, being 
not yet thirty years old, and what they call a jolly brisk 
young man. 

Hence arose another evil, which produced no little un¬ 
easiness to the poor pedagogue, of whom she maintained so 
constant a jealousy, that he durst hardly speak to one 
woman in the parish ; for the least degree of civility, or 
even correspondence, with any female, was sure to bring 
his wife upon her back, and his own. 

In order to guard herself against matrimonial injuries in 
her own house, as she kept one maid-servant, she always 
took care to choose her out of that order of females whose 
faces are taken as a kind of security for their virtue ; of 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


71 


which number Jenny Jones, as the reader hath been before 
informed, was one. 

As the face of this young woman might be called pretty 
good security of the before-mentioned kind, and as her 
behavior had been always extremely modest, which is the 
certain consequence of understanding in women, she had 
passed above four years at Mr. Partridge’s (for that was the 
schoolmaster’s name) without creating the least suspicion in 
her mistress. Nay, she had been treated with uncommon 
kindness, and her mistress had permitted Mr. Partridge to 
give her those instructions which have been before com¬ 
memorated. 

But it is with jealousy as with the gout : when such dis¬ 
tempers are in the blood, there is never any security against 
their breaking out ; and that often on the slightest occa¬ 
sions, and when least suspected. 

Thus it happened to Mrs. Partridge, who had submitted 
four years to her husband’s teaching this young woman, and 
had suffered her often to neglect her work in order to pur¬ 
sue her learning. For, passing by one day, as the girl was 
reading, and her master leaning over her, the girl, I know 
not for what reason, suddenly started up from her chair : 
and this was the first time that suspicion ever entered into 
the head of her mistress. 

This did not, however, at that time discover itself, but 
lay lurking in her mind, like a concealed enemy, who waits 
for a reinforcement of additional strength before he openly 
declares himself and proceeds upon hostile operations : and 
such additional strength soon arrived to corroborate her 
suspicion ; for not long after, the husband and wife being 
at dinner, the master said to his maid, Da mihi aliquid 
potum: upon which the poor girl smiled, perhaps at the 
badness of the Latin, and, when her mistress cast her eyes 
on her, blushed, possibly with a consciousness of having 
laughed at her master. Mrs. Partridge, upon this, im- 


72 


THE HIS TOR Y OF 


mediately fell into a fury, and discharged the trencher on 
which she was eating, at the head of poor Jenny, crying 
out, “ You impudent whore, do you play tricks with my 
husband before my face?’’ and at the same instant rose 
from her chair with a knife in her hand, with which, most 
probably, she would have executed very tragical ven¬ 
geance, had not the girl taken the advantage of being nearer 
the door than her mistress, and avoided her fury by running 
away : for, as to the poor husband, whether surprise had 
rendered him motionless, or fear (which is full as probable) 
had restrained him from venturing at any opposition, he 
sat staring and trembling in his chair ; nor did he once 
offer to move or speak, till his wife, returning from the 
pursuit of Jenny, made some defensive measures, necessary 
for his own preservation ; and he likewise was obliged to 
retreat, after the example of the maid. 

This good woman was, no more than Othello, of a dis 
position 

To make a life of jealousy, 

And follow still the changes of the moon 
With fresh suspicions- 

With her, as well as him, 

-To be once in doubt. 

Was once to be resolv’d- 

she therefore ordered Jenny immediately to pack up her 
alls and begone, for that she was determined she should not 
sleep that night within her walls. 

Mr. Partridge had profited too much by experience to 
interpose in a matter of this nature. He therefore had re¬ 
course to his usual recipe of patience ; for, though he was 
not a great adept in Latin, he remembered, and well un¬ 
derstood, the advice contained in these words : 

- Leve jit , quod bene fertur onus. 

in English : 

A burden becomes lightest when it is well borne— 






TOM JONES: A FOUND LINO. 


73 


which he had always in his mouth ; and of which, to say 
the truth, he had often occasion to experience the truth. 

Jenny ottered to make protestations of her innocence ; 
but the tempest was too high for her to be heard. She 
then betook herself to the business of packing, for which a 
small quantity of brown paper sufficed ; and, having re¬ 
ceived her small pittance of wages, she returned home. 

The schoolmaster and his consort passed their time un¬ 
pleasantly enough that evening ; but something or other 
happened before the next morning which a little abated the 
fury of Mrs. Partridge ; and she at length admitted her 
husband to make his excuses : to which she gave the readier 
belief, as he had, instead of desiring her to recall Jenny, 
professed a satisfaction in her being dismissed, saying she 
was grown of little use as a servant, spending all her time 
in reading, and was become, moreover, very pert and ob¬ 
stinate : for, indeed, she and her master had lately had 
frequent disputes in literature, in which, as hath been said, 
she was become greatly his superior. This, however, he 
would by no means allow ; and as he called her persisting 
in the right, obstinacy, he began to hate her with no small 
inveteracy. 

CHAPTER IV. 

CONTAINING ONE OF THE MOST BLOODY BATTLES, OK RATHER 

DUELS, THAT WERE EVER RECORDED IN DOMESTIC HISTORY. 

For the reasons mentioned in the preceding chapter, and 
from some other matrimonial concessions, well known to 
most husbands, and which, like the secrets of free-masonry, 
should be divulged to none who are not members of that 
honorable fraternity, Mrs. Partridge was pretty well satis¬ 
fied that she had condemned her husband without cause, 
and endeavored by acts of kindness to make him amends for 
her false suspicion. Iler passions were, indeed, equally 


74 


THE HISTORY OF 


violent, which ever way they inclined ; for as she could he 
extremely angry, so could she be altogether as fond. 

But though these passions ordinarily succeeded each 
other, and scarce twenty-four hours ever passed in which 
the pedagogue was not, in some degree, the object of both, 
yet, on extraordinary occasions, when the passion of anger 
had raged very high, the remission was usually longer : and 
so was the case at present ; for she continued longer in a 
state of affability, after this fit of jealousy was ended, than 
her husband had ever known before : and, had it not been 
for some little exercises, which all the followers of Xan- 
tippe are obliged to perform daily, Mr. Partridge would 
have enjoyed a perfect serenity of several months. 

Perfect calms at sea are always susjDected by the experi¬ 
enced mariner to be the forerunners of a storm : and I 
know some persons who, without being generally the dev¬ 
otees of superstition, are apt to apprehend that great and 
unusual peace or tranquillity will be attended with its op¬ 
posite. For which reason the ancients used, on such occa¬ 
sions, to sacrifice to the goddess X emesis, a deity who was 
thought by them to look with an invidious eye on human 
felicity, and to have a peculiar delight in overturning it. 

As we are very far from believing in any such heathen 
goddess, or from encouraging any superstition, so we wish 

Mr. John Fr-, or some other such philosopher, would 

bestir himself a little, in order to find out the real cause of 
this sudden transition from good to bad fortune, which hath 
been so often remarked, and of which we shall proceed to 
give an instance ; for it is our province to relate facts, and 
we shall leave causes to persons of much higher genius. 

Mankind have always taken great delight in knowing and 
descanting on the actions of others. Hence there have 
been, in all ages and nations, certain places set apart for 
public rendezvous, where the curious might meet and satisfy 
their mutual curiosity. Among these, the barbers’ shops 



TOM .TONEK. A FOUNDLING . 


75 


Iiave justly bore the pre-eminence. Among the Greeks, 
barbers’ news was a proverbial expression ; and Horace, in 
one of his epistles, makes honorable mention of the Roman 
barbers in the same light. 

Those of England are known to be no wise inferior to 
their Greek or Roman predecessors. You there see foreign 
affairs discussed in a maimer little inferior to that with 
which they are handled in the coffee-houses ; and domestic 
occurrences are much more largely and freely treated in the 
former than in the latter. But this serves only for the men. 
How, whereas the females of this country, especially those 
of the lower order, do associate themselves much more than 
those of other nations, our polity would be highly deficient 
if they had not some place set apart likewise for the indul¬ 
gence of their curiosity, seeing they are in this no way in¬ 
ferior to the other half of the species. 

In enjoying, therefore, such place of rendezvous, the 
British fair ought to esteem themselves more happy than 
any of their foreign sisters ; as I do not remember either 
to have read in history, or to have seen in my travels, any¬ 
thing of the like kind. 

This place then is no other than the chandler’s shop, the 
known seat of all the news ; or, as it is vulgarly called, 
gossiping, in every parish in England. 

Mrs. Partridge being one day at this assembly of females, 
was asked by one of her neighbors if she had heard no 
news lately of Jenny Jones To which she answered in the 
negative. Upon this the other replied, with a smile, That 
the parish was very much obliged to her for having turned 
Jenny away as she did. 

Mrs. Partridge, whose jealousy, as the reader well 
knows, was long since cured, and who had no other quarrel 
to her maid, answered boldly, She did not know any obli¬ 
gation the parish had to her on that account ; for she be¬ 
lieved Jenny had scarce left her equal behind her. 


76 


THE HISTORY OF 


“No, truly,” said the gossip, “I hope not, though I 
fancy we have sluts enow too. Then you have not heard, it 
seems, that she hath been brought to bed of two bastards? 
but as they are not born here, my husband and the other 
overseer says we shall not be obliged to keep them.” 

“Two bastards!” answered Mrs. Partridge hastily: 
“ you surprise me! I don’t know whether we must keep 
them; but I am sure they must have been begotten here, 
for the wench hath not been nine months gone away.” 

Nothing can be so quick and sudden as the operations of 
the mind, especially when hope or fear, or jealousy, to 
which the two others are but journeymen, set it to work. 
It occurred instantly to her that Jenny had scarce ever 
been out of her own house while she lived with her. # The 
leaning over the chair, the sudden starting up, the Latin, 
the smile, and many other things, rushed upon her all at 
once. The satisfaction her husband expressed in the de¬ 
parture of Jenny appeared now to be only dissembled ; 
again, in the same instant, to be real ; and yet to confirm 
her jealousy, as proceeding from satiety, and a hundred 
other bad causes. In a word, she was convinced of her hus¬ 
band’s guilt, and immediately left the assembly in confu¬ 
sion. 

As fair Grimalkin, who, though the youngest of the 
feline family, degenerates not in ferocity from the elder 
branches of her house, and though inferior in strength, is 
equal in fierceness to the noble tiger himself, when a little 
mouse, whom it hath long tormented in sport, escapes from 
her clutches for a while, frets, scolds, growls, swears ; but 
if the trunk, or box, behind which the mouse lay hid, be 
again removed, she Hies like lightning on her prey, and, 
with envenomed wrath, bites, scratches, mumbles, and 
tears the little animal. 

Not with less fury did Mrs. Partridge fly on the poor 
pedagogue. Pier tongue, teeth, and hands fell all upon 


TOM JONES: A E0UNBL1NG. 


7 ? 


him at once. His wig was in an instant torn from his 
head, his shirt from his back, and from his face descended 
live streams of blood, denoting the number of claws with 
which nature had unhappily armed the enemy. 

Mr. Partridge acted for some time on the defensive 
only ; indeed he attempted only to guard his face with his 
hands ; but as he found that his antagonist abated nothing 
of her rage, he thought he might, at least, endeavor to dis¬ 
arm her, or rather to confine her arms ; in doing which, 
her cap fell off in the struggle, and her hair being too short 
to reach her shoulders, erected itself on her head ; her 
stays, likewise, which were laced through one single hole 
at the bottom, burst open ; and her breasts, which were 
much more redundant than her hair, hung down below 
her middle ; her face was likewise marked with the blood 
of her husband ; her teeth gnashed with rage ; and fire, 
such as sparkles from a smith’s forge, darted from her eyes. 
So that, altogether, this Amazonian heroine might have 
been an object of terror to a much bolder man than Mr. 
Partridge. 

He had, at length, the good fortune, by getting possession 
of her arms, to render those weapons which she wore at 
the ends of her fingers useless ; which she no sooner per¬ 
ceived, than the softness of her sex prevailed over her rage, 
and she presently dissolved in tears, which soon after con¬ 
cluded in a fit. 

That small share of sense which Mr. Partridge had 
hitherto preserved through this scene of fury, of the cause 
of which he was hitherto ignorant, now utterly abandoned 
him. He ran instantly into the street, hollowing out that 
his wife was in the agonies of death, and beseeching the 
neighbors to fly with the utmost haste to her assistance. 
Several good women obeyed his summons, who entering 
his house, and applying the usual remedies on such occa¬ 
sions, Mrs. Partridge was at length, to the great joy of her 
husband, brought to herself^ 


78 


THE HISTORY OF 


As soon as she had a little re-collected her spirits, and 
somewhat composed herself with a cordial, she began to in¬ 
form the company of the manifold injuries she had received 
from her husband ; who, she said, was not contented to 
injure her in her bed ; but, upon her upbraiding him with 
it, had treated her in the cruelest manner imaginable ; had 
torn her cap and hair from her head, and her stays from 
her body, giving her, at the same time, several blows, the 
marks of which she should carry to the grave. 

The poor man, who bore on his face many more visible 
marks of the indignation of his wife, stood in silent as¬ 
tonishment at this accusation ; which the reader will, I be¬ 
lieve, bear witness for him, had greatly exceeded. the 
truth ; for indeed he had not struck her once ; and this 
silence being interpreted to be a confession of the charge 
by the whole court, they all began at once, una voce , to 
rebuke and revile him, repeating often that none but a 
coward ever struck a woman. 

Mr. Partridge bore all this patiently ; but when his wife 
appealed to the blood on her face, as an evidence of his 
barbarity, he could not help laying claim to his own blood, 
for so it really was ; as he thought it very unnatural that 
this should rise up (as we are taught that of a murdered per¬ 
son often doth) in vengeance against him. 

To this the women made no other answer than that it 
was a pity it had not come from his heart, instead of his 
face ; all declaring that if their husbands should lift their 
hands against them, they would have their heart’s bloods 
out of their bodies. 

After much admonition for what was past, and much 
good advice to Mr. Partridge for his future behavior, the 
company at length departed, and left the husband and wife 
to a personal conference together, in which Mr. Partridge 
soon learned the cause of all his sufferings. 




TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


79 


CHAPTER V. 

CONTAINING MUCH MATTER TO EXERCISE THE JUDGMENT AND 

REFLECTION OF THE READER. 

I believe it is a true observation that few secrets are 
divulged to one person only ; but certainly it would be 
next to a miracle that a fact of this kind should be known to 
a whole parish, and not transpire any farther. 

And, indeed, a very few days had passed before the coun¬ 
try, to use a common phrase, rung of the schoolmaster of 
Little Baddington, who was said to have beaten his wife 
in the most cruel manner. Nay, in some places it was re¬ 
ported he had murdered her ; in others, that he had broke 
her arms ; in others, her legs : in short, there was scarce 
an injury which can be done to a human creature, but what 
Mrs. Partridge was somewhere or other affirmed to have 
received from her husband. 

The cause of this quarrel was likewise variously reported ; 
for as some people said that Mrs. Partridge had caught her 
husband in bed with his maid, so many other reasons, of 
a very different kind, went abroad. Nay, some transferred 
the guilt to the wife, and the jealousy to the husband. 

Mrs. Wilkins had long ago heard of this quarrel ; but, 
as a different cause from the true one had reached her ears, 
she thought proper to conceal it ; and the rather, perhaps, 
as the blame was universally laid on Mr. Partridge ; and 
his wife, when she was servant to Mr. Allworthy, had in 
something offended Mrs. Wilkins, who was not of a very 
forgiving temper. 

But Mrs. Wilkins, whose eyes could see objects at a dis¬ 
tance, and who could very well look forward a few years 
into futurity, had perceived a strong likelihood of Captain 
Blifil’s being hereafter her master ; and as she plainly dis¬ 
cerned that the captain bore no great good-will to the little 





80 


THE HISTORY OF 


foundling, she fancied it would he rendering him an agree^ 
able service if she could make any discoveries that might 
lessen the affection which Mr. Allworthy seemed to have 
contracted for this child, and which gave visible uneasiness 
to the captain, who could not entirely conceal it even before 
Allworthy himself ; though his wife, who acted her part 
much better in public, frequently recommended to him her 
own example, of conniving at the folly of her brother, 
which, she said, she at least as well perceived, and as much 
resented, as any other possibly could. 

Mrs. Wilkins having therefore, by accident, gotten a 
true scent of the above story, though long after it had hap¬ 
pened, failed not to satisfy herself thoroughly of all the 
particulars ; and then acquainted the captain that she had 
at last discovered the true father of the little bastard, which 
she was sorry, she said, to see her master lose his reputa¬ 
tion in the country by taking so much notice of. 

The captain chid her for the conclusion of her speech, as 
an improper assurance in judging of her master’s actions ; 
for if his honor, or his understanding, would have suffered 
the captain to make an alliance with Mrs. Wilkins, his 
pride would by no means have admitted it. And to say 
the truth, there is no conduct less politic than to enter 
into any confederacy with your friend’s servants against 
their master : for by these means you afterwards become 
the slave of these very servants, by whom you are con¬ 
stantly liable to be betrayed. And this consideration per¬ 
haps it was which prevented Captain Blifil from being 
more explicit with Mrs. Wilkins, or from encouraging the 
abuse which she had bestowed on All worthy. 

But though he declared no satisfaction to Mrs. Wilkins 
at this discovery, he enjoyed not a little from it in his own 
mind, and resolved to make the best use of it he was able. 

He kept this matter a long time concealed within his 
own breast, in hopes that Mr. Allworthy might hear it 



TOM TOMES: A FOUNDLING. 


81 


from some other person ; but Mrs. Wilkins, whether she 
resented the captain’s behavior, or whether his cunning was 
beyond her, and she feared the discovery might displease 
him, never afterwards opened her lips about the matter. 

I have thought it somewhat strange, upon reflection, that 
the housekeeper never accquainted Mrs. Blifil with this 
news, as women are more inclined to communicate all 
pieces of intelligence to their own sex than to ours. The 
only way, as it appears to me, of solving this difficulty is 
by imputing it to that distance which was now grown be¬ 
tween the lady and the housekeeper : whether this arose 
from a jealousy in Mrs. Blifll that Wilkins showed too 
great a respect to the foundling ; for while she was endeav¬ 
oring to ruin the little infant, in order to ingratiate herself 
with the captain, she was every day more and more com¬ 
mending it before Allwortliy, as his fondness for it every 
day increased.. This, notwithstanding all the care she took 
at other times to express the direct contrary to Mrs. Blifll, 
perhaps offended that delicate lady, who certainly now 
hated Mrs. Wilkins ; and though she did not, or possibly 
could not, absolutely remove her from her place, she found, 
however, the means of making her life very uneasy. This 
Mrs. Wilkins at length so resented, that she very openly 
showed all manner of respect and fondness to little Tommy, 
in opposition to Mrs. Blifll. 

The captain, therefore, finding the story in danger of 
perishing, at last took an opportunity to reveal it himself. 

He was one day engaged with Mr. Allworthy in a dis¬ 
course on charity : in which the captain, with great learn¬ 
ing, proved to Mr. Allworthy that the word charity in 
Scripture nowhere means beneficence or generosity. 

“ The Christian religion,” he said, “ was instituted for 
much nobler purposes than to enforce a lesson which many 
heathen philosophers had taught us long before, and which, 
though it might perhaps be called a moral virtue, savored 








82 


THE HISTORY OF 


but little of that sublime, Christian-like disposition, that 
vast elevation of thought, in purity approaching to angelic 
perfection, to be attained, expressed, and felt only by grace. 
“ Those,” he said, “came nearer to the Scripture mean¬ 
ing who understood by it candor, or the forming of a 
benevolent opinion of our brethren, and passing a favorable 
judgment on their actions ; a virtue much higher, and more 
extensive in its nature, than a pitiful distribution of alms, 
which, though we would never so much prejudice or even 
ruin our families, could never reach many ; whereas char¬ 
ity, in the other and truer sense, might be extended to all 
mankind. ’ ’ 

He said, “ Considering who the disciples were, it would 
be absurd to conceive the doctrine of generosity, or giving 
alms, to have been preached to them. And, as we could 
not well imagine this doctrine should be preached by its 
Divine Author to men who could not practise it, much 
less should we think it understood so by those who can 
practise it, and do not. 

“ But though,” continued he, “ there is, I am afraid, lit¬ 
tle merit in these benefactions, there would, I must confess, 
be much pleasure in them to a good mind, if it was not 
abated by one consideration. I mean, that we are liable to 
be imposed upon, and to confer our choicest favors often 
on the undeserving, as you must own was your case in your 
bounty to that worthless fellow Partridge : for two or three 
such examples must greatly lessen the inward satisfaction 
which a good man would otherwise find in generosity ; nay, 
may even make him timorous in bestowing, lest he should 
be guilty of supporting vice and encouraging the wicked ; 
a crime of a very black dye, and for which it will by no 
means be a sufficient excuse that we have not actually in¬ 
tended such an encouragement, unless we have used the 
utmost caution in choosing the objects of our beneficence ; 
a consideration which, I make no doubt, hath greatly 
checked the liberality of many a worthy and pious man/' 


83 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING, 

Mr. All worthy answered, u He could not dispute with 
the captain in the Greek language, and therefore could say 
nothing as to the true sense of the word which is translated 
charity ; but that he had always thought it was interpreted 
to consist in action, and that giving alms constituted at least 
one branch of that virtue. 

“ As to the meritorious part,” he said, “ he readily 
agreed with the captain ; for where could be the merit of 
barely discharging a duty ? which,” he said, “ let the word 
charity have what construction it would, it sufficiently ap¬ 
peared to be from the whole tenor of the Hew Testament. 
And as he thought it an indispensable duty, enjoined both 
by the Christian law and by the law of nature itself, so 
was it withal so pleasant that if any duty could be said to 
be its own reward, or to pay us while we are discharging it, 
it was this. 

“ To confess the truth,” said he, “ there is one degree 
of generosity (of charity I would have called it) which 
seems to have some show of merit, and that is, where, from 
a principle of benevolence and Christian love, we bestow on 
another what we really want ourselves ; where, in order to 
lessen the distresses of another, we condescend to share some 
part of them, by giving what even our own necessities can¬ 
not well spare. This is, I think, meritorious ; but to relieve 
our brethren only with our superfluities ; to be charitable 
(I must use the word) rather at the expense of our coffers 
than ourselves ; -to save several families from misery rather 
than hang up an extraordinary picture in our houses, or 
gratify any other idle ridiculous vanity—this seems to be 
only being Christians, nay, indeed, only being human crea¬ 
tures. Hay, I will venture to go farther—it is being in some 
degree epicures : for what could the greatest epicure wish 
rather than to eat with many moutfis instead of one ? which I 
think may be predicated of any one who knows that the 
bread of many is owing to his own largesses. 


84 


THE HISTORY OF 


“ As to tlie apprehension of bestowing bounty on such 
as may hereafter prove unworthy objects, because many 
have proved such, surely it can never deter a good man 
from generosity. I do not think a few or many examples 
of ingraittude can justify a man’s hardening his heart 
against the distresses of his fellow-creatures ; nor do I be¬ 
lieve it can ever have such effect on a truly benevolent 
mind. Nothing less than a persuasion of universal deprav¬ 
ity can lock up the charity of a good man ; and this persua¬ 
sion must lead them, I think, either into atheism or enthu¬ 
siasm ; but surely it is unfair to argue such universal de¬ 
pravity from a few vicious individuals ; nor was this, 1 be¬ 
lieve, ever done by a man who, upon searching his own 
mind, found one certain exception to the general rule.” 
He then concluded by asking, “ who that Partridge was, 
whom he had called a worthless fellow ?” 

“ I mean,” said the captain, “ Partridge the barber, the 
schoolmaster, what do you call him ? Partridge, the father 
of the little child which you found in your bed.” 

Mr. Allwortliy expressed great surprise at this account, and 
the captain as great at his ignorance of it ; for he said he 
had known it above a month : and at length recollected with 
much difficulty that he was told it by Mrs. Wilkins. 

Upon this, Wilkins was immediately summoned ; who, 
having confirmed what the captain had said, was by Mr. 
Allworthy, by and with the captain’s advice, dispatched to 
Little Baddington, to inform herself of the truth of the 
fact : for the captain expressed great dislike at all hasty pro¬ 
ceedings in criminal matters, and said he would by no 
means have Mr. Allworthy take any resolution either to the 
prejudice of the child or its father, before he was satisfied 
that the latter was guilty ; for though he had privately sat¬ 
isfied himself of this from one of Partridge’s neighbors, yet 
he was too generous to give any such evidence to Mr. Alb 
worthy. 


TOM JOKES: A FO UKDLIKG. 


85 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE TRIAL OF PARTRIDGE, THE SCHOOLMASTER, FOR INCON- 
TINENCY ; THE EVIDENCE OF IIIS WIFE ; A SHORT RE¬ 
FLECTION ON THE WISDOM OF OUR LAW ; WITH OTHER GRAVE 
MATTERS, WHICH THOSE WILL LIKE BEST WHO UNDERSTAND 
THEM MOST. 

It may be wondered ‘that a story so well known, and 
which had furnished so much matter of conversation, should 
never have been mentioned to Mr. Allwortliy himself, 
who was perhaps the only person in that country who had 
never heard of it. 

To account in some measure for this to the reader, I 
think proper to inform him that there was no one in the 
kingdom less interested in opposing that doctrine concern¬ 
ing the meaning of the word charity, which hath been seen 
in the preceding chapter, than our good man. Indeed, he 
was equally entitled to this virtue in either sense ; for as 
no man was ever more sensible of the wants or more ready 
to relieve the distresses of others, so none could be more 
tender of their characters or slower to believe anything to 
their disadvantage. 

Scandal, therefore, never found any access to his table ; 
for as it hath long since been observed that you may know 
a man by his companions, so I will venture to say, that, by 
attending to the conversation at a great man’s table, you 
may satisfy yourself of his religion, his politics, his taste, 
and indeed of his entire disposition : for though a few odd 
fellows will utter their own sentiments in all places, yet 
much the greater part of mankind have enough of the com*, 
tier to accommodate their conversation to the taste and in¬ 
clination of their superiors. 

But to return to Mrs. Wilkins, who, having executed 
her commission with great dispatch, though at fifteen miles* 


8 C 


TIIE HISTORY OF 


distance, brought back such a confirmation of the school 
master’s guilt, that Mr. Allworthy determined to send for 
the criminal, and examine him viva voce . Mr. Partridge, 
therefore, was summoned to attend, in order to his defence 
(if he could make any) against this accusation. 

At the time appointed, before Mr. Allworthy himself, 
at Paradise-hall, came as well the said Partridge, with 
Anne, his wife, as Mrs. Wilkins his accuser. 

And now Mr. Allworthy being seated in the chair of 
justice, Mr. Partridge was brought before him. Having 
heard his accusation from the mouth of Mrs. Wilkins, he 
pleaded not guilty, making many vehement protestations of 
his innocence. 

Mrs. Partridge w r as then examined, who, after a modest 
apology for being obliged to speak the truth against her 
husband, related all the circumstances with which the 
reader hath already been acquainted ; and at last concluded 
with her husband’s confession of his guilt. 

Whether she had forgiven him or no, I will not venture 
to determine ; but it is certain she was an unwilling witness 
in this cause ; and it is probable, from certain other reasons, 
would never have been brought to depose as she did, had 
not Mrs. Wilkins, with great art, fished all out of her at her 
own house, and had she not indeed made promises, in Mr. 
Allworthy’s name, that the punishment of her husband 
should not be such as might anywise affect his family. 

Partridge still persisted in asserting his innocence, though 
he admitted he had made the above-mentioned confession ; 
which he however endeavored to account for by protesting 
that he was forced into it by the continued importunity she 
used : who vowed, that, as she was sure of his guilt, she 
would never leave tormenting him till he had owned it ; 
and faithfully promised that, in such case, she would never 
mention it to him more. Hence, he said, he had been 
induced falsely to confess himself guilty, though he was in- 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


87 


nocent ; and tliat he believed he should have confessed a 
murder from the same motive. 

Mrs. Partridge could not hear this imputation with pa¬ 
tience ; and having no other remedy in the present place 
but tears, she called forth a plentiful assistance from them, 
and then addressing herself to Mr. Allworthy, she said 
(or rather cried), “ May it please your worship, there never 
was any poor woman so injured as I am by that base man ; 
for this is not the only instance of his falsehood to me. 
No, may it please your worship, he hath injured my bed 
many’s the good time and often. I could have put up with 
his drunkenness and neglect of his business, if he had not 
broke one of the sacred commandments. Besides, if it had 
been out of doors I had not mattered it so much ; but with 
my own servant, in my own house, under my own roof, to 
defile my own chaste bed, which to be sure he hath, with 
his beastly stinking whores. Yes, you villain, you have 
defiled my own bed, you have ; and then you have charged 
me with bullocking you into owning the truth. It is very 
likely, an’t please your worship, that I should bullock him ? 
I have marks now about my body to show of his cruelty 
to me. If you had been a man, you villain, you would 
have scorned to injure a woman in that manner. But you 
an’t half a man, you know it. Nor have you been half a 
husband to me. You need run after whores, you need, 

when I’m sure-And since he provokes me, I am 

ready, an’t please your worship, to take my bodily oath 
that I found them a bed together. What, you have forgot, 
I suppose, when you beat me into a fit, and made the blood 
run down my forehead, because I only civilly taxed you 
with adultery ! but I can prove it by ail my neighbors, 
You have almost broke my heart, you have, you have.” 

Here Mr. Allworthy interrupted, and begged her to be 
pacified, promising her that she should have justice ; then 
turning to Partridge, who stood aghast, one half of his wits 



88 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


being hurried away by surprise and the other half by fear, 
he said he was sorry to see there was so wicked a man in 
the world. He assured him that his prevaricating and lying 
backward and forward was a great aggravation of his guilt ; 
for which the only atonement he could make was confession 
and repentance. He exhorted him, therefore, to begin by 
immediately confessing the fact, and not to persist in deny 
ing what was so plainly proved against him even by his 
own wife. 

Here, reader, I beg your patience a moment, while I 
make a just compliment to the groat wisdom and sagacity 
of our law, which refuses to admit the evidence of a wife 
for or against her liuband. This, says a certain learned 
author, who, I believe, was never quoted before in any but 
a law-book, would be the means of creating an eternal dis¬ 
sension between them. It would, indeed, be the means of 
much perjury, and of much whipping, fining, imprisoning, 
transporting, and hanging. 

Partridge stood a while silent, till, being bid to speak, 
he said he had already spoken the truth, and appealed to 
Heaven for his innocence, and lastly to the girl herself, 
whom he desired his worship immediately to send for ; for 
he was ignorant, or at least pretended to be so, that she had 
left that part of the country. 

Mr. Allwortliy, whose natural love of justice, joined to 
his coolness of temper, made him always a most patient 
magistrate in hearing all the witnesses which an accused 
person could produce in his defence, agreed to defer his 
final determination of this matter till the arrival of Jenny, 
for whom he immediately dispatched a messenger ; and 
then having recommended peace between Partridge and his 
wife (though he addressed himself chiefly to the wrong 
person), he appointed them to attend again the third day ; 
for he had sent Jenny a whole day’s journey from his own 
house. 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


89 


At the appointed time the parties all assembled, when 
the messenger returning brought word that Jenny was not 
to be found ; for that she had left her habitation a few 
days before, in company with a recruiting officer. 

Mr. Allworthy then declared that the evidence of 
such a slut as she appeared to he would have deserved no 
credit ; but he said he could not help thinking that, had 
she been present, and would have declared the truth, she 
must have confirmed what so many circumstances, together 
with his own confession, and the declaration of his wife that 
she had caught her husband in the fact, did sufficiently 
prove. He therefore once more exhorted Partridge to con¬ 
fess ; but he still avowing his innocence, Mr. Allwortliy 
declared himself satisfied of his guilt, and that he was too 
bad a man to receive any encouragement from him. He 
therefore deprived him of his annuity, and recommended 
repentance to him, on account of another world, and indus¬ 
try to maintain himself and his wife in this. 

There were not, perhaps, many more unhappy persons 
than poor Partridge. He had lost the best part of his in¬ 
come by the evidence of his wife, and yet was daily ivp- 
braided by her for having, among other things, been the 
occasion of depriving her of that benefit; but such was his 
fortune, and he was obliged to submit to it. 

Though I called him poor Partridge in the last para¬ 
graph, I would have the reader rather impute that epithet 
to the compassion in my temper, than conceive it to be any 
declaration of his innocence. Whether he was innocent or 
not, will perhaps appear hereafter ; but if the historic muse 
hath entrusted me with any secrets, I will by no means be 
guilty of discovering them till she shall give me leave. 

Here therefore the reader must suspend his curiosity. 
Certain it is that, whatever was the truth of the case, 
there was evidence more than sufficient to convict him be* 
fore Allworthy ; indeed, much less would have satisfied a 







90 


THE HISTORY OF 


bench of justices on an order of bastardy ; and yet, not 
withstanding the positiveness of Mrs. Partridge, who 
would have taken the sacrament upon the matter, there is a 
possibility that the schoolmaster was entirely innocent : for 
though it appeared clear, on comparing the time when 
Jenny departed from Little Baddington with that of her 
delivery, that she had there conceived this infant, yet it 
by no means followed of necessity that Partridge must have 
been its father ; for, to omit other particulars, there was in 
the same house a lad near eighteen, between whom and 
Jenny there had subsisted sufficient intimacy to found a 
reasonable suspicion ; and yet, so blind is jealousy, this 
circumstance never once entered into the head of the en¬ 
raged wife. 

Whether Partridge repented or not, according to Mr. 
Allworthy’s advice, is not so apparent. Certain it is that 
his wife repented heartily of the evidence she had given 
against him : especially when she found Mrs. Deborah had 
deceived her, and refused to make any application to Mr. 
Allworthy on her behalf. She had, however, somewhat 
better success with Mrs. Bliffl, who was, as the reader 
must have perceived, a much better-tempered woman, and 
very kindly undertook to solicit her brother to restore the 
annuity ; in which, though good-nature might have some 
share, yet a stronger and more natural motive will appear in 
the next chapter. 

These solicitations were nevertheless unsuccessful: for 
though Mr. Allworthy did not think, with some late writ¬ 
ers, that mercy consists only in punishing offenders, yet 
he w r as so far from thinking that it is proper to this excel¬ 
lent quality to pardon great criminals wantonly, without 
any reason whatever. Any doubtfulness of the fact, or any 
circumstance of mitigation, was never disregarded : but 
the petitions of an offender, or the intercessions of others, 
did not in the least affect him. In a word, he never par 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


9a 


doned because the offender himself, or his friends, were 
unwilling that he should he punished. 

Partridge and his wife were therefore both obliged to 
submit to their fate ; which was indeed severe enough : for 
so far was he from doubling his industry on the account of 
his lessened income, that he did in a manner abandon him¬ 
self to despair ; and as lie was by nature indolent, that vice 
now increased upon him, by which means he lost the little 
school lie had, so that neither his wife nor himself would 
have had any bread to eat had not the charity of some good 
Christian interposed, and provided them with what was just 
sufficient for their sustenance. 

As this support was conveyed to them by an unknown 
hand, they imagined, and so, I doubt not, will the reader, 
that Mr. Allworthy himself was their secret benefactor ; 
who, though he would not openly encourage vice, could 
yet privately relieve the distresses of the vicious themselves, 
when these became too excpiisite and disproportionate to 
their merit. In which light their wretchedness appeared 
now to Fortune herself ; for she at length took pity on this 
miserable couple, and considerably lessened the wretched 
state of Partridge, by putting a final end to that of his wife, 
who soon after caught the small-pox, and died. 

The justice which Mr. Allworthy had executed on Par¬ 
tridge at first met with universal approbation ; but no 
sooner had he felt its consecpiences, than his neighbors began 
to. relent, and to compassionate his case, and presently 
after to blame that as rigor and severity which they before 
called justice. They now exclaimed against punishing in 
cold blood, and sang forth the praises of mercy and for¬ 
giveness. 

These cries were considerably increased by the death of 
Mrs. Partridge, which, though owing to the distemper 
above mentioned, which is no consequence of poverty or 







92 


THE HISTORY OF 


distress, many were not ashamed to impute to Mr. All 
worthy’s severity, or, as they now termed it, cruelty. 

Partridge having now lost his wife, his school, and his 
annuity, and the unknown person having now discontinued 
the last-mentioned charity, resolved to change the scene, 
and left the country, where he was in danger of starving, 
with the universal compassion of all his neighbors. 

CHAPTER VII. 

A SHORT SKETCH OF THAT FELICITY WHICH PRUDENT COUPLES 

MAY EXTRACT FROM HATRED : WITH A SHORT APOLOGY 

FOR THOSE PEOPLE WHO OVERLOOK IMPERFECTIONS IN 

THEIR FRIENDS. 

Though the captain had effectually demolished poor Par¬ 
tridge, yet had lie not reaped the harvest he hoped for, 
which was to turn the foundling out of Mr. Allworthy’s 
house. 

On the contrary, that gentleman grew every day fonder 
of little Tommy, as if he intended to counterbalance his 
severity to the father with extraordinary fondness and 
affection towards the son. 

This a good deal soured the captain’s temper, as did all 
the other daily instances of Mr. Allworthy’s generosity ; 
for he looked on all such largesses to be diminutions of his 
own wealth. 

In this, we have said, he did not agree with his wife ; 
nor, indeed, in anything else : for though an affection 
placed on the understanding is, by many wise persons, 
thought more durable than that which is founded on 
beauty, yet it happened otherwise in the present case. Hay, 
the understandings of this couple were their principal bone 
of contention, and one great cause of many quarrels, which 
from time to time arose between them, and which at last 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


93 


ended, on the side of the lady, in a sovereign contempt 
for her husband, and on the husband’s in an utter abhor¬ 
rence of his wife. 

As these had both exercised their talents chiefly in the 
study of divinity, this was, from their first acquaintance, 
the most common topic of conversation between them. The 
captain, like a well-bred man, had, before marriage, always 
given up his opinion to that of the lady ; and this, not in 
the clumsy awkward manner of a conceited blockhead, 
who, while he civilly yields to a superior in an argument, 
is desirous of being still known to think himself in the 
right. The captain, on the contrary, though one of the 
proudest fellows in the world, so absolutely yielded the vic¬ 
tory to his antagonist, that she, who had not the least doubt 
of his sincerity, retired always from the dispute with an 
admiration of her own understanding and a love for his. 

But though this complacence to one whom the captain 
thoroughly despised was not so uneasy to him as it would 
have been hi d any hopes of preferment: made it necessary 
to show the same submission to a Hoadley, or to some other 
of great reputation in the science, yet even this cost him too 
much to be endured without some motive. Matrimony, 
therefore, having removed all such motives, he grew weary 
of this condescension, and began to treat the opinions of 
his wife with that haughtiness and insolence which none 
but those who deserve some contempt themselves can be¬ 
stow, and those only who deserve no contempt can bear. 

When the first torrent of tenderness was over, and when, 
in the calm and long interval between the fits, reason began 
to open the eyes of the lady, and she saw this alteration 
of behavior in the captain, who at length answered all her * 
arguments only with pish and pshaw, she was far from 
enduring the indignity with a tame submission. Indeed, it 
at first so highly provoked her, that it might have produced 
some tragical event, had it not taken a more harmless turn, 






94 


THE HISTORY OF 


by filling her with the utmost contempt for her husband’s 
understanding, which somewhat qualified her hatred to¬ 
wards him ; though of this likewise she had a pretty mod¬ 
erate share. 

The captain’s hatred to her was of a purer kind : for as 
to any imperfections in her knowledge or understanding, 
he no more despised her for them than for her not being 
six feet high. In his opinion of the female sex he ex¬ 
ceeded the moroseness of Aristotle himself : he looked on 
a woman as on an animal of domestic use, of somewhat 
higher consideration than a cat, since her offices were of 
rather more importance ; but the difference between these 
two was, in his estimation, so small, that, in his marriage 
contracted with Mr. Allworthy’s lands and tenements, it 
would have been pretty equal which of them he had taken 
into the bargain. And yet so tender was his pride, that it 
felt the contempt which his wife now began to express to¬ 
wards him ; and this, added to the surfeit he had before 
taken of her love, created in him a degree of disgust and 
abhorrence perhaps hardly to be exceeded. 

One situation only of the married state is excluded from 
pleasure : and that is, a state of indifference : but as many 
of my readers, I hope, know what an exquisite delight 
there is in conveying pleasure to a beloved object, so some 
few, I am afraid, may have experienced the satisfaction of 
tormenting one we hate. It is, I apprehend, to come at 
this latter pleasure, that we see both sexes often give up 
that ease in marriage which they might otherwise possess, 
though their mate was never so disagreeable to them. 
Hence the wife often puts on fits of love and jealousy, nay, 
even denies herself any pleasure, to disturb and prevent 
those of her husband ; and he again, in return, puts fre¬ 
quent restraints on himself, and stays at home in company 
which he dislikes, in order to confine his wife to what she 
equally detests. Hence, too, must flow those tears which 


TOM J ONES: A FO END LINO. 95 

a widow sometimes so plentifully slieds over the ashes of a 
husband with whom she led a life of constant disquiet and 
turbulency, and whom now she can never hope to torment 
any more. 

But if ever any couple enjoyed this pleasure, it was at 
present experienced by the captain and his lady. It was 
always a sufficient reason to either of them to be obstinate 
in any opinion that the other had previously asserted the 
contrary. If the one proposed any amusement, the other 
constantly objected to it : they never loved or hated, com¬ 
mended or abused, the same person. And for this reason, 
as the captain looked with an evil eye on the little found 
ling, his wife began now to caress it ahnost equally with 
her own child. 

The reader will be apt to conceive that this behavior 
between the husband and wife did not greatly contribute to 
Mr. Allworthy’s repose, as it tended so little to that serene 
happiness which he had proposed to all three from this 
alliance ; but the truth is, though he might be a little dis¬ 
appointed in his sanguine expectations, yet he was far from 
being acquainted with the whole matter ; for, as the cap¬ 
tain was, from certain obvious reasons, much on his guard 
before him, the lady was obliged, for fear of her brother’s 
displeasure, to pursue the same conduct. In fact, it is pos 
sible for a third person to be very intimate, nay, even to 
live long in the same house, with a married couple, who 
have any tolerable discretion, and not even guess at the 
sour sentiments which they bear to each other ; for though 
the whole day may be sometimes too short for hatred, as 
well as for love, yet the many hours which they naturally 
spend together, apart from all observers,* supply people of 
tolerable moderation with such ample opportunity for the 
enjoyment of either passion, that, if they love, they can sup¬ 
port being a few hours in company without toying, or if 
they hate, without spitting in each other’s faces 







96 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


It is possible, however, that Mr. Allworthy saw enough 
to render him a little uneasy ; for we are not always to 
conclude that a wise man is not hurt because he doth not 
cry out and lament himself, like those of a childish or 
effeminate temper. But indeed it is possible he might see 
some faults in the captain without any uneasiness at all ; for 
men of true wisdom and goodness are contented to take 
persons and things as they are, without complaining of their 
imperfections, or attempting to amend them. They can 
see a fault in a friend, a relation, or an acquaintance, with¬ 
out ever mentioning it to the parties themselves, or to any 
others ; and this often without the least lessening their 
affection. Indeed, unless great discernment be tempered 
w T itli this overlooking disposition, we ought never to con¬ 
tract friendship but with a degree of folly which we can 
deceive ; for I hope my friends will pardon me when I de¬ 
clare I know none of them without a fault ; and I should 
be sorry if I could imagine I had any friend who could not 
see mine. Forgiveness of this kind we give and demand in 
turn. It is an exercise of friendship, and perhaps none of 
the least pleasant. And this forgiveness we must bestow, 
without desire of amendment. There is, perhaps, no 
surer mark of folly than an attempt to correct the natural 
infirmities of those we love. The finest composition of 
human nature, as well as the finest china, may have a flaw 
in it ; and this, I am afraid, in either case is equally incur¬ 
able ; though, nevertheless, the pattern may remain of the 
highest value. 

Upon the whole, then, Mr. Allworthy certainly saw some 
imperfections in the captain ; but as this w r as a very artful 
man, and eternally upon his guard before him, these ap¬ 
peared to him no more than blemishes in a good character, 
which his goodness made him overlook, and his wisdom 
prevented him from discovering to the captain himself. 
Very different w T ould have been his sentiments had he 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


97 


discovered the whole, which perhaps would in time have 
been the case had the husband and wife long continued 
this kind of behavior to each other ; but this kind Fortune 
took effectual means to prevent, by forcing the captain to 
do that which rendered him again dear to his wife, and re¬ 
stored all her tenderness and affection towards him. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

A RECEIPT TO REGAIN THE LOST AFFECTIONS OF A WIFE S 
WHICH HATH NEVER BEEN KNOWN TO FAIL IN THE MOST 
DESPERATE CASES. 

The captain was made large amends for the unpleasant 
minutes which he passed in the conversation of his wife (and 
which were as few as he could contrive to make them), by 
the pleasant meditations he enjoyed when alone. 

These meditations were entirely employed on Mr. All¬ 
worthy’s fortune ; for, first, he exercised much thought in 
caclulating, as well as he could, the exact value of the 
whole : which calculations he often saw occasion to alter in 
his own favor : and, secondly and chiefly, he pleased him¬ 
self with intended alterations in the house and gardens, and 
in projecting many other schemes, as well for the improve¬ 
ment of the estate as of the grandeur of the place : for this 
purpose he applied himself to the studies of architecture 
and gardening, and read over many books on both these 
subjects ; for these sciences, indeed, employed his whole 
time, and formed his only amusement. He at last com¬ 
pleted a most excellent plan : and very sorry we are that 
it is not in our power to present it to our reader, since even 
the luxury of the present age, I believe, would hardly match 
it. It had, indeed, in a superlative degree, the two princi¬ 
pal ingredients which serve to recommend all great and 
noble designs of this nature i for it required an immoderate 








98 


THE IIIS TORY OF 


expense to execute, and a vast length of time to bring it to 
any sort of perfection. Tlie former of these, the immense 
wealth of which the captain supposed Mr. Allworthy 
possessed, and which he thought himself sure of inheriting, 
promised very effectually to supply ; and the latter, the 
soundness of his own constitution, and his time of life, 
which was only what is called middle-age, removed all ap¬ 
prehension of his not living to accomplish. 

Nothing was wanting to enable him to enter upon the 
immediate execution of this plan but the death of Mr. 
Allworthy, in calculating which he had employed much 
of his own algebra, besides purchasing every book extant 
that treats of the value of lives, reversions, etc. From all 
which he satisfied himself that as he had every day a 
chance of this happening, so had he more than an even 
chance of its happening within a few years. 

But while the captain was one day busied in deep con¬ 
templations of this kind, one of the most unlucky as well as 
unseasonable accidents happened to him. The utmost mal¬ 
ice of Fortune could, indeed, have contrived nothing so 
cruel, so malapropos, so absolutely destructive to all his 
schemes. In short, not to keep the reader in long suspense, 
just at the very instant when his heart was exulting in medi¬ 
tations on the happiness which would accrue to him by Mr. 
Allworthy’s death, he himself—died of an apoplexy. 

This unfortunately befell the captain as he was taking his 
evening walk by himself, so that nobody was present to 
lend him any assistance, if indeed any assistance could have 
preserved him. He took, therefore, measure of that pro¬ 
portion of soil which was now become adequate to all his 
future purposes, and he lay dead on the ground, a great 
(though not a living) example of the truth of that observa¬ 
tion of Horace : 

Tu secanda marmora 
Locas sub ipsum f unus ; et sepulchri 
lmmemor, struts domos . 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


99 


Which sentiment I shall thus give to the English reader : 
u ^ou provide the noblest materials for building, when a 
pickaxe and a sjDade are only necessary : and build houses 
of five hundred by a hundred feet, forgetting that of six 
by two. ’ 5 

CHAPTER IX. 

A PROOF OF THE INFALLIBILITY OF THE FOREGOING RECEIPT, 
IN THE LAMENTATIONS OF THE WIDOW ; WITH OTHER SUIT' 
ABLE DECORATIONS OF DEATH, SUCH AS PHYSICIANS, ETC., 
AND AN EPITAPH IN THE TRUE STYLE. 

Mr. Allworthy, his sister, and another lady, were as¬ 
sembled at the accustomed hour in the supper-room, where, 
having waited a considerable time longer than usual, Mr. 
Allworthy first declared lie began to grow uneasy at the 
captain’s stay (for he was always most punctual at his 
meals) ; and gave orders that the bell should be rung with¬ 
out the doors, and especially towards those walks which the 
captain was wont to use. 

All these summons proving ineffectual (for the captain 
had, by perverse accident, betaken himself to a new walk 
that evening), Mrs. Blifil declared she was seriously fright¬ 
ened. Upon which the other lady, who was one of her most 
intimate acquaintance, and who well knew the true state of 
her affections, endeavored all she could to pacify her, tell¬ 
ing her—’To be sure she could not help being uneasy, but 
that she should hope the best. That perhaps the sweetness 
of the evening had enticed the captain to go farther than 
his usual walk : or he might be detained at some neighbor’s. 
Mrs. Blifil answered, No ; she was sure some accident 
had befallen him ; for that he would never stay out with¬ 
out sending her word, as he must know how uneasy it would 
make her. The other lady, having no other arguments to 






100 


THE Ills TOE Y OF 


use, betook lierself to the entreaties usual on such occa¬ 
sions, and begged her not to frighten herself, for it might be 
of very ill consequence to her own health ; and, filling out 
a very large glass of wine, advised and at last prevailed 
with her to drink it. 

Mr. Allworthy now returned into the parlor, for he had 
been himself in search after the captain. His countenance 
sufficiently showed the consternation he was under, which, 
indeed, had a good deal deprived him of speech ; but as 
grief operates variously on different minds, so the same ap¬ 
prehension which depressed his voice elevated that of Mrs. 
Blifil. She now began to bewail herself in very bitter 
terms, and floods of tears accompanied her lamentations ; 
which the lady, her companion, declared she could not 
blame, but at the same time dissuaded her from indulging ; 
attempting to moderate the grief of her friend by philo¬ 
sophical observations on the many disappointments to which 
human life is daily subject, which, she said, was a sufficient 
consideration to fortify our minds against any accidents, how 
sudden or terrible soever. She said her brother’s example 
ought to teach her patience, who, though indeed he could 
not be supposed as much concerned as herself, yet was, 
doubtless, very uneasy, though his resignation to the Di¬ 
vine Will had restrained his grief within due bounds. 

‘ £ Mention not my brother, ’ ’ said Mrs. Blifil ; “I alone 
am the object of your pity. What are the terrors of friend¬ 
ship to what a wife feels on these occasions ? Oh, he is 
lost ! Somebody hath murdered him—I shall never see 
him more !” Here a torrent of tears had the same conse¬ 
quence with what the suppression had occasioned to Mr. 
Allwortliy, and she remained silent. 

At this interval a servant came running in, out of breath, 
and cried out, The captain was found ; and, before he could 
proceed farther, he was followed by two more, bearing the 
dead body between them. 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


101 


Here tlie curious reader may observe another diversity in 
the operations of grief : for as Mr. Allworthy had been 
before silent, from the same cause which had made his sis¬ 
ter vociferous, so did the present sight, which drew tears 
from the gentleman, put an entire stop to those of the 
lady, who first gave a violent scream, and presently after 
fell into a fit. 

The room was soon full of servants, some of whom, with 
the lady visitant, were employed in care of the wife ; and 
others, with Mr. Allwortliy, assisted in carrying off the cap¬ 
tain to a warm bed, where every method was tried in 
order to restore him to life. 

And glad should we be could we inform the reader that 
both these bodies had been attended with ecpial success ; 
for those who undertook the care of the lady succeeded so 
well that, after the fit had continued a decent time, she 
again revived, to their great satisfaction ; but as to the cap¬ 
tain, all experiments of bleeding, chafing, dropping, etc., 
proved ineffectual. Death, that inexorable judge, had 
passed sentence on him, and refused to grant him a re¬ 
prieve, though two doctors who arrived, and were fee’d at 
one and the same instant, were his counsel. 

These two doctors, whom, to avoid any malicious appli¬ 
cations, we shall distinguish by the names of Dr. Y. and 
Dr. Z., having felt his pulse, to wit, Dr. Y. his right arm 
and Dr. Z. his left, both agreed that he was absolutely 
dead ; but as to the distemper, or cause of his death, they 
differed, Dr. Y. holding that he died of an apoplexy, and 
Dr. Z. of an epilepsy. 

Hence arose a dispute between the learned men, in which 
each delivered the reasons of their several opinions. These 
were of such equal force that they served both to confirm 
either doctor in his own sentiments, and made not the least 
impression on his adversary. 







102 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


To say the truth, every physician almost hath his favorite 
disease, to which he ascribes all the victories obtained over 
human nature. The gout, the rheumatism, the stone, the 
gravel, and the consumption have all their several patrons 
in the faculty ; and none more than the nervous fever or the 
fever on the spirits. And here we may account for those 
disagreements in opinion, concerning the cause of a pa¬ 
tient’s death, which sometimes occur between the most 
learned of the college, and which have greatly surprised 
that part of the world who have been ignorant of the fact 
we have above asserted. 

The reader may perhaps be surprised that, instead of 
endeavoring to revive the patient, the learned gentlemen 
should fall immediately into a dispute on the occasion of his 
death ; but in reality all such experiments had been made 
before their arrival : for the captain was put into a warm 
bed, had his veins scarified, his forehead chafed, and all 
sorts of strong drops applied to his lips and nostrils. 

The physicians, therefore, finding themselves anticipated 
in everything they ordered, were at a loss how to apply 
that portion of time which it is usual and decent to remain 
for their fee, and were therefore necessitated to find some 
subject or other for discourse ; and what could more nat¬ 
urally present itself than that before mentioned ? 

Our doctors were about to take their leave, when Mr. All- 
worthy, having given over the captain, and acquiesced in 
the Divine will, began to inquire after his sister, whom he 
desired them to visit before their departure. 

This lady was now recovered of her fit, and, to use the 
common phrase, as well as could be expected for one in her 
condition. The doctors, therefore, all previous ceremonies 
being complied with, as this was a new patient, attended, 
according to desire, and laid hold on each of her hands, as 
they had before done on those of the corpse. 

The case of the lady was in the other extreme from that 


103 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

of her husband : for as he was past all the assistance of 
physic, so in reality she required none. 

There is nothing more unjust than the vulgar opinion by 
which physicians are misrepresented as friends to death. 
On the contrary, I believe, if the number of those who 
recover by physic could be opposed to that of the martyrs 
to it, the former would rather exceed the latter. Nay, 
some are so cautious on this head that to avoid a possibility 
of killing the patient, they abstain from all methods of 
curing, and prescribe nothing but what can neither do good 
nor harm. I have heard some of these, with great gravity, 
deliver it as a maxim, “ That nature should be left to do 
her own work, while the physician stands by, as it were, to 
clap her on the back, and encourage her when she doth 
well. ” 

So little then did our doctors delight in death, that they 
discharged the corpse after a single fee ; but they were not 
so disgusted with their living patient ; concerning whose 
ease they immediately agreed, and fell to prescribing with 
great diligence. 

Whether, as the lady had at first persuaded her physi¬ 
cians to believe her ill, they had now, in return, persuaded 
her to believe herself so, I will not determine ; but she 
continued a whole month with all the decorations of sick¬ 
ness. During this time she was visited by physicians, at¬ 
tended by nurses, and received constant messages from her 
acquaintance to inquire after her health. 

At length the decent time for sickness and immoderate 
grief being expired, the doctors were discharged, and the 
lady began to see company ; being altered only from what 
she was before by that color of sadness in which she had 
dressed her person and countenance. 

The captain was now interred, and might, perhaps, have 
already made a large progress towards oblivion, had not the 
friendship of Mr. All worthy taken care to preserve his 





104 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING, 


memory, by the following epitaph, which was written by 
a man of as great genius as integrity, and one who per- 
fectly well knew the captain. 

HERE LIES, 

IN EXPECTATION OF A JOYFUL RISING, 

THE BODY OF 

CAPTAIN JOHN BLIFIL. 

LONDON 

HAD THE HONOUR OF HIS BIRTH, 

OXFORD 

OF HIS EDUCATION. 

HIS PARTS 

WERE AN HONOUR TO HIS PROFESSION 
AND TO HIS COUNTRY : 

HIS LIFE, TO HIS RELIGION 
AND HUMAN NATURE. 

HE WAS A DUTIFUL SON, 

A TENDER HUSBAND, 

AN AFFECTIONATE FATHER, 

A MOST KIND BROTHER, 

A SINCERE FRIEND, 

A DEVOUT CHRISTIAN, 

AND A GOOD MAN. 

HIS INCONSOLABLE WIDOW 
HATH ERECTED THIS STONE, 

THE MONUMENT OF 
HIS VIRTUES 
AND OF HER AFFECTION. 


BOOK III. 


CONTAINING THE MOST MEMORABLE TRANSACTIONS WHICH PASSED LN 
THE FAMILY OF MR. ALLWORTUY, FROM THE TIME WHEN TOMMY 
JONES ARRIVED AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN, TILL HE ATTAINED 
THE AGE OF SEVENTEEN. IN THIS BOOK THE READER MAY PICK 
UP SOME HINTS CONCERNING THE EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER I. 

CONTAINING LITTLE OR NOTHING. 

The reader will be pleased to remember that, at the be¬ 
ginning of the second book of this history, we gave him a 
hint of our intention to pass over several large periods of 
time, in which nothing happened worthy of being recorded 
in a chronicle of this kind. 

In so doing, we do not only consult our own dignity and 
ease, but the good and advantage of the reader : for besides 
that by these means we prevent him from throwing away 
his time, in reading without either pleasure or emolument, 
we give him, at all such seasons, an opportunity of employ¬ 
ing that wonderful sagacity of which he is master, by fill¬ 
ing up these vacant spaces of time with his own conjec¬ 
tures ; for which purpose we have taken care to qualify 
him in the preceding pages. 

For instance, what reader but knows that Mr. Allworthy 
felt, at first, for the loss of his friend those emotions of 
grief which on such occasions enter into all men whose 
hearts are not composed of flint or their heads of as solid 
materials ? Again, what reader doth not know that phi¬ 
losophy and religion in time moderated, and at last extin- 





106 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


guished, this grief ? The former of these teaching the foil}-’ 
and vanity of it, and the latter correcting it as unlawful, 
and at the same time assuaging it by raising future hopes 
and assurances which enable a strong and religious mind to 
take leave of a friend on his death-bed with little less 
indifference than if he was preparing for a long journey ; 
and, indeed, with little less hope of seeing him again. 

Nor can the judicious reader be at a greater loss on ac 
count of Mrs. Bridget Blifil, who, he may be assured, con¬ 
ducted herself through the whole season in which grief is to 
make its appearance on the outside of the body, with the 
strictest regard to all the rules of custom and decency, suit¬ 
ing the alterations of her countenance to the several altera¬ 
tions of her habit ; for as this changed from weeds to black, 
from black to gray, from gray to white, so did her coun¬ 
tenance change from dismal to sorrowful, from sorrowful to 
sad, and from sad to serious, till the day came in which she 
was allowed to return to her former serenity. 

Me have mentioned these two as examples only of the 
task which may be imposed on readers of the lowest class. 
Much higher and harder exercises of judgment and penetra¬ 
tion may reasonably be expected from the upper graduates 
in criticism. Many notable discoveries will, I doubt not, be 
made by such of the transactions which happened in the 
family of our worthy man, during all the years which we 
have thought proper to pass over : for though nothing wor¬ 
thy of a place in this history occurred within that period, 
yet did several incidents happen of equal importance with 
those reported by the daily and weekly historians of the 
age ; in reading which great numbers of persons consume a 
considerable part of their time, very little, I am afraid, to 
their emolument. Now, in the conjectures here proposed, 
some of the most excellent faculties of the mind may be 
employed to much advantage, since it is a more useful 
capacity to be able to foretell the actions of men, in any cir- 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


107 


cumstance, from their characters, than to judge of their 
characters from their actions. The former, I own, requires 
the greater penetration ; hut may he accomplished by true 
sagacity with no less certainty than the latter. 

As we are sensible that much the greatest part of our 
readers are very eminently possessed of this quality, we 
have left them a space of twelve years to exert it in ; and 
shall now bring forth our hero, at about fourteen years of 
age, not questioning that many have been long impatient to 
be introduced to his acquaintance. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE HERO OF THIS GREAT HISTORY APPEARS WITH VERY BAH 
OMENS. A LITTLE TALE OF SO low A KIND THAT SOME MAY 
THINK IT NOT WORTH THEIR NOTICE. A WORD OR TWO CON¬ 
CERNING A SQUIRE, AND MORE RELATING TO A GAMEKEEPER 
AND A SCHOOLMASTER. 

As we determined, when we first sat down to write this 
history, to flatter no man, but to guide our pen throughout 
by the directions of truth, we are obliged to bring our hero 
on the stage in a much more disadvantageous manner than 
we could wish ; and to declare honestly, even at his first ap¬ 
pearance, that it was the universal opinion of all Mr. All- 
wortliy’s family that he was certainly born to be hanged. 

Indeed, I am sorry to say there was too much reason for 
this conjecture ; the lad having from his earliest years dis¬ 
covered a propensity to many vices, and especially to one 
which hath as direct a tendency as any other to that fate 
which we have just now observed to have been prophetically 
denounced against him : he had been already convicted of 
three robberies, viz., of robbing an orchard, of stealing a 
duck out of a farmer’s yard, and of picking Master JBlifiPs 
pocket of a ball. 







108 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


The vices of this young man were, moreover, heightened 
by the disadvantageous light in which they appeared when 
opposed to the virtues of Master Blifil, his companion ; a 
youth of so different a cast from little Jones, that not only 
the family but all the neighborhood resounded his praises, 
lie was, indeed, a lad of a remarkable disposition ; sober, 
discreet, and pious beyond his age ; qualities which gained 
him the love of every one who knew him : while Tom 
Jones was universally disliked ; and many expressed their 
wonder that Mr. Allwortliy would suffer such a lad to be 
educated with his nephew, lest the morals of the latter 
should be corrupted by his example. 

An incident which happened about this time will set the 
characters of these two lads more fairly before the discern¬ 
ing reader than is in the power of the longest dissertation. 

Tom Jones, who, bad as he is, must serve for the hero 
of this history, had only one friend among all the servants 
of the family ; for as to Mrs. Wilkins, she had long since 
given him up, and was perfectly reconciled to her mistress. 
This friend was the gamekeeper, a fellow of a loose kind 
of disposition, and who was thought not to entertain much 
stricter notions concerning the difference of meum and 
tuum than the young gentleman himself. And hence this 
friendship gave occasion to many sarcastical remarks among 
the domestics, most of which were either proverbs before, 
or at least are become so now ; and, indeed, the wit of them 
all may be comprised in that short Latin proverb, u Nos- 
citur a socio which, I think, is thus expressed in Eng¬ 
lish, “ You may know him by the company he keeps.” 

To say the truth, some of that atrocious wickedness in 
Jones, of which we have just mentioned three examples, 
might perhaps be derived from the encouragement he had 
received from this fellow, who, in two or three instances, 
had been what the law calls an accessory after the fact : for 
the whole duck, and great part of the apples, were con- 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


100 


verted to the use of the gamekeeper and his family ; though, 
as Jones alone was discovered, the poor lad bore not only 
the whole smart, but the whole blame; both which fell 
again to his lot on the following occasion. 

Contiguous to Mr. Allworthy’s estate was the manor of 
one of those gentlemen who are called preservers of the 
game. This species of men, from the great severity with 
which they revenge the death of a hare or partridge, might 
be thought to cultivate the same superstition with the Ban- 
nians in India, many of whom, we are told, dedicate their 
whole lives to the preservation and protection of certain 
animals ; was it not that our English Bannians, while they 
preserve them from other enemies, will most unmercifully 
slaughter whole horse-loads themselves ; so that they stand 
clearly acquitted of any such heathenish superstition. 

I have, indeed, a much better opinion of this kind of 
men than is entertained by some, as I take them to answer 
the order of Nature, and the good purposes for which they 
were ordained, in a more ample manner than many others. 
Now, as Horace tells us that there are a set of human 
beings 

Fruges consumere nati, 

j 

I “ Born to consume the fruits of the earth so I make no 

1 manner of doubt but that there are others 




Feras consumere nati, 

“ Born to consume the beasts of the field or, as it is 
commonly called, the game ; and none, I believe, will deny 
but that those squires fulfil this end of their creation. 

Little Jones went one day a shooting with the game- 
keeper ; when happening to spring a covey of partridges 
near the border of that manor over which Fortune, to fulfil 
the wise purposes of Nature, had planted one of the game 
consumers, the birds flew into it, and were marked (as it is 
called) by the two sportsmen, in some furze bushes, about 









110 THE HIST OR Y OF 

two or three hundred paces beyond Mr. Allworthy’s do 
minions. 

Mr. Allworthy had given the fellow strict orders, on pain 
of forfeiting his place, never to trespass on any of his neigh' 
bors ; no more on those who were less rigid in this matter 
than on the lord of this manor. With regard to others, in¬ 
deed, these orders had not been always very scrupulously 
kept ; but as the disposition of the gentleman with whom 
the partridges had taken sanctuary was well known, the 
gamekeeper had never yet attempted to invade his territo¬ 
ries. Nor had he done it now, had not the younger sjmrts- 
man, who was excessively eager to pursue the hying game, 
over-persuaded him ; but Jones being very importunate, 
the other, who was himself keen enough after the sport, 
yielded to his persuasions, entered the manor, and shot one 
of the partridges. 

The gentleman himself was at that time on horseback, at 
a little distance from them ; and hearing the gun go off, he 
immediately made towards the place, and discovered poor 
Tom ; for the gatekeeper had leaped into the thickest part of 
the furze-brake, where he had happily concealed himself. 

The gentleman having searched the lad, and found the 
partridge upon him, denounced great vengeance, swearing 
he would acquaint Mr. All worthy . He was as good as his 
word ; for he rode immediately to his house, and com¬ 
plained of the trespass on his manor in as high terms and as 
bitter language as if his house had been broken open and 
the most valuable furniture stole out of it. He added, that 
some other person was in his company, though he could not 
discover him ; for that two guns had been discharged al¬ 
most in the same instant. And, says he, “We have found 
only this partridge, but the Lord knows what mischief they 
have done. ’ ’ 

At his return home, Tom was presently convened before 
Mr. All worthy. He owned the fact, and alleged no other 




Ill 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

excuse but what was really true, viz., that the covey was 
originally sprung in Mr. Allworthy’s own manor. 

Tom was then interrogated who was with him, which Mr. 
Allwortliy declared he was resolved to know, acquainting 
the culprit with the circumstance of the two guns, which 
had been deposed by the squire and both his servants ; but 
Tom stoutly persisted in asserting that he was alone ; yet, 
to say the truth, lie hesitated a little at first, which would 
have confirmed Mr. Allworthy’s belief had what the squire 
and his servants said wanted any further confirmation. 

The gamekeeper, being a suspected person, was now sent 
for, and the question put to him ; but he, relying on the 
promise which Tom had made him, to take all upon him¬ 
self, very resolutely denied being in company with the 
| young gentleman, or indeed having seen him the whole 
afternoon. 

Mr. Allworthy then turned towards Tom, with more than 
usual anger in his countenance, and advised him to confess 
who was with him, repeating that he was resolved to 
know. The lad, however, still maintained his resolution, 
and was dismissed with much wrath by Mr. Allworthy, 
who told him he should have to the next morning to con- 
1 sider of it, when he should be questioned by another person, 
and in another manner. 

Poor Jones spent a very melancholy night ; and the more 
so, as he was without his usual companion ; for Master 
Blifil was gone abroad on a visit with his mother. Fear of 
the punishment he was to suffer was on this occasion his 
least evil ; his chief anxiety being lest his constancy should 
fail him, and lie should be brought to betray the game- 
I keper, whose ruin he knew must now be the consequence. 

Nor did the gamekeeper pass his time much better. He 
had the same apprehensions with the youth ; for whose honor 
he had likewise a much tenderer regard than for his skin. 

In the morning, when Tom attended the reverend Mr, 


f 






112 


THE IIISTOB Y OF 


Thwackum, the person to whom Mr. Allworthy had com¬ 
mitted the instruction of the two boys, he had the same 
questions put to him by that gentleman which he had been 
asked the evening before, to which he returned the same 
answers. The consequence of this was so severe a whip¬ 
ping that it possibly fell little short of the torture with 
which confessions are in some countries extorted from 
criminals. 

Tom bore his punishment with great resolution ; and 
though his master asked him, between every stroke, 
whether he would not confess, he was contented to be 
flayed rather than betray his friend or break the promise 
he had made. 

The gamekeeper was now relieved from his anxiety, and 
Mr. Allwortliy himself began to be concerned at Tom’s 
sufferings : for besides that Mr. Thwackum, being highly 
enraged that he was not able to make the boy say what he 
himself pleased, had carried his severity much beyond the 
good man’s intention, this latter began now to suspect that 
the squire had been mistaken, which his extreme eager¬ 
ness and anger seemed to make probable ; and as for what 
the servants had said in confirmation of their master’s ac¬ 
count, he laid no great stress upon that. Now, as cruelty 
and injustice were two ideas of which Mr. Allwortliy could 
by no means support the consciousness a single moment, 
he sent for Tom, and after many kind and friendly exhor¬ 
tations, said, “ I am convinced, my dear child, that my 
suspicions have wronged you ; I am sorry that you have 
been so severely punished on this account, ’ ’ And at last 
gave him a little horse to make him amends ; again re¬ 
peating his sorrow for what had passed. 

Toni’s guilt now flew in his face more than any severity 
could make it. He could more easily bear the lashes of 
Thwackum than the generosity of Allwortliy. The tears* 
burst from his eyes, and he fell upon his knees, crying, 





TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


113 


“ Oli, sir, you are too good to me. Indeed you are. In¬ 
deed I don’t deserve it.” And at that very instant, from 
the fulness of his heart, had almost betrayed the secret ; 
but the good genius of the gamekeeper suggested to him 
what might be the consequence to the poor fellow, and 
this consideration sealed his lips. 

Thwackum did all he could to persuade Allworthy from 
showing any compassion or kindness to the boy, saying, 
“ He had persisted in an untruth and gave some hints 
that a second whipping might probably bring the matter to 
light. 

But Mr. Allworthy absolutely refused to consent to the 
experiment. He said the boy had suffered enough already 
for concealing the truth, even if he was guilty, seeing that 
he could have no motive but a mistaken point of honor for 
so doing. 

“ Honor !” cried Thwackum with some wrath, “ mere 
stubbornness and obstinacy ! Can honor teach any one to 
tell a lie, or can any honor exist independent of religion ?” 

This discourse happened at table when dinner was just 
ended ; and there were present Mr. All worthy, Mr. 
Thwackum, and a third gentleman, who now entered into 
the debate, and whom, before we proceed any farther, we 
shall briefly introduce to our reader’s acquaintance. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE CHARACTER OF MR. SQUARE THE PHILOSOPHER, AND OF 

MR. THWACKUM THE DIVINE ; WITH A DISPUTE CONCERN¬ 
ING t—. 

The name of this gentleman, who had then resided some 
time at Mr. All worthy’s house, was Mr. Square. His natu¬ 
ral parts were not of the first rate, but he had greatly im¬ 
proved them by a learned education. He was deeply read 








114 


THE HIS TOE Y OF 


in tlie ancients, and a professed master of all the works 
of Plato and Aristotle ; upon which great models he had 
principally formed himself, sometimes according with the 
opinion of the one, and sometimes with that of the other. 
In morals he was a profest Platonist, and in religion he in¬ 
clined to he an Aristotelian. 

But though he had, as we have said, formed his morals 
on the Platonic model, yet he perfectly agreed with the 
opinion of Aristotle, in considering that great man rather 
in the quality of a philosopher or a speculatist, than as a 
legislator. This sentiment he carried a great way ; indeed, 
so far as to regard all virtue as matter of theory only. 
This, it is true, he never affirmed, as I have heard, to any 
one ; and yet upon the least attention to his conduct, I can¬ 
not help thinking it was his real opinion, as it will perfectly 
reconcile some contradictions which might otherwise appear 
in his character. 

This gentleman and Mr. Thwackum scarce ever met 
without a disputation ; for their tenets were indeed dia¬ 
metrically opposite to each other. Square held human 
nature to he the perfection of all virtue, and that vice was 
a deviation from our nature, in the same manner as defor¬ 
mity of body is. Thwackum, on the contrary, maintained 
that the human mind, since the fall, was nothing hut a sink 
of iniquity, till purified and redeemed hy grace. In one 
point only they agreed, which was, in all their discourses on 
morality never to mention the word goodness. The favor¬ 
ite phrase of the former was the natural beauty of virtue, 
that of the latter was the divine power of grace. The for 
mer measured all actions by the unalterable rule of right, 
and the eternal fitness of things ; the latter decided all 
matters by authority ; but in doing this, he always used the 
Scriptures and their commentators, as the lawyer doth his 
Coke upon Lyttleton, where the comment is of equal an 
tliority with the text. 


115 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

After this short introduction, the reader will be pleased 
to remember that the parson had concluded his speech with 
a triumphant question, to which he had apprehended no an* 
ewer, viz., Can any honor exist independent of religion ? 

To this Square answered that it was impossible to dis¬ 
course philosophically concerning words till their meaning 
was first established : that there were scarce any two words 
of a more vague and uncertain signification than the two 
he had mentioned ; for that there were almost as many 
different opinions concerning honor as concerning religion. 
‘ ‘ But, ’ 5 says he, ‘ ‘ if by honor you mean the true natural 
beauty of virtue, I will maintain it may exist independent 
of any religion whatever. Nay,” added he, “ you your¬ 
self will allow it 
will a Mahometan, a Jew, and all the maintainers of all 
the different sects in the world.” 

Thwackum replied, this was arguing with the usual mal¬ 
ice of all the enemies to the true Church. He said he 
doubted not but that all the infidels and heretics in the 
world would, if they could, confine honor to their own ab¬ 
surd errors and damnable deceptions ; “ but honor,” says 
he, “ is not therefore manifold because there are many 
absurd opinions about it ; nor is religion manifold because 
there are various sects and heresies in the world. When I 
mention religion, I mean the Christian religion ; and not 
only the Christian religion, but the Protestant religion ; 
ancl not only the Protestant religion, but the Church of 
England. And when I mention honor, I mean that mode 
of Divine grace which is not only consistent with, but 
dependent upon, this religion, and is consistent with and 
dependent upon no other. Now to say that the honor I 
here mean, and which was, I thought, all the honor I could 
be supposed to mean, will uphold, much less dictate an un 
truth, is to assert an absurdity too shocking to be con 
ceived. ” 


may exist independent of all but one : so 








116 


THE HIST OB Y OF 


a I purposely avoided,” says Square, “ drawing a con¬ 
clusion which I thought evident from what I have said ; hut 
if you perceived it, I am sure you have not attempted to 
answer it. However, to drop the article of religion, I think 
it is plain, from what you have said, that we have different 
ideas of honor ; or why do we not agree in the same terms 
of its explanation ? I have asserted that true honor and 
true virtue are almost synonymous terms, and they are 
both founded on the unalterable rule of right, and the eter¬ 
nal fitness of things ; to which an untruth being absolutely 
repugant and contrary, it is certain that true honor cannot 
support an untruth. In this, therefore, T think we are 
agreed ; but that this honor can be said to be founded on 
religion, to which it is antecedent, if by religion be meant 
any positive law-” 

“I agree,” answered Tliwackum, with great warmth, 
“ with a man who asserts honor to be antecedent to relig¬ 
ion ! Mr. Allwortliy, did I agree-?” 

He was proceeding when Mr. Allworthy interposed, tell¬ 
ing them very coldly they had both mistaken his meaning ; 
for that he had said nothing of true honor. It is possible, 
however, he would not have easily quieted the disputants, 
who were growing equally warm, had not another matter 
now fallen out, which put a final end to the conversation at 
present. 


CHAPTER IV. 

CONTAINING A NECESSARY APOLOGY FOR THE AUTHOR ; AND 
A CHILDISH INCIDENT, WHICH PERHAPS REQUIRES AN APOL¬ 
OGY LIKEWISE. 

Before I proceed farther, I shall beg leave to obviate 
some misconstructions into which the zeal of some few 
readers may lead them 3 for I would not willingly give 




TOM JOKES: A FOUNDLING. 


11 ? 


offence to any, especially to men wlio are warm in tlie cause 
of virtue or religion. 

O 

I hope, therefore, no man will, by the grossest misunder¬ 
standing or perversion of my meaning, misrepresent me as 
endeavoring to cast any ridicule on the greatest perfections 
of human nature ; and which do, indeed, alone purify and 
ennoble the heart of man, and raise him above the brute 
creation. This, reader, I will venture to say (and by how 
much the better man you are yourself, by so much the 
more will you be inclined to believe me), that I would 
rather have buried the sentiments of these two persons in 
eternal oblivion than have done any injury to either of 
these glorious causes. 

On the contrary, it is with a view to their service that I 
have taken upon me to record the lives and actions of two 
of their false and pretended champions. A treacherous 
friend is the most dangerous enemy ; and I will say boldly 
that both religion and virtue have received more real dis- 
credit from hypocrites than the wittiest profligates or in¬ 
fidels could ever cast upon them ; nay, farther, as these 
two, in their purity, are rightly called the bands of civil 
society, and are indeed the greatest of blessings, so when 
poisoned and corrupted with fraud, pretence, and affecta¬ 
tion, they have become the worst of ci vil curses, and have 
enabled men to perpetrate the most cruel mischiefs to their 
own species. 

Indeed, I doubt not but this ridicule will in general be 
allowed : my chief apprehension is, as many true and just 
sentiments often came from the mouths of these persons, 
lest the whole should be taken together, and I should be 
conceived to ridicule all alike. Now the reader will be 
pleased to consider that, as neither of these men were fools, 
they could not be supposed to have holden none but wrong 
principles, and to have uttered nothing but absurdities ; 
what injustice, therefore, must I have done to their charac- 




118 


THE JITS TOR Y OF 


ters, liad I selected only what was had ! And how horribly 
wretched and maimed must their arguments have appeared ! 
Upon the whole, it is not religion or virtue, but the want 
of them, which is here exposed. Had not Thwackum too 
much neglected virtue, and Square religion, in the compo¬ 
sition of their several systems, and had not both utterly dis 
carded all natural goodness of heart, they had never been 
represented as the objects of derision in this history ; in 
which we will now proceed. 

This matter, then, which put an end to the debate men¬ 
tioned in the last chapter, was no other than a quarrel be¬ 
tween Master Blifil and Tom Jones, the consequence of 
which had been a bloody nose to the former ; for though 
Master Blifil, notwithstanding he was the younger, was in 
size above the other’s match, yet Tom was much his supe¬ 
rior at the noble art of boxing. 

Tom, however, cautiously avoided all engagements with 
that youth ; for besides that Tommy Jones was an inoffen¬ 
sive lad amidst all his roguery, and really loved Blifil, Mr. 
Thwackum being always the second of the latter, would 
have been sufficient to deter him. 

But well says a certain author, No man is wise at all 
hours ; it is therefore no wonder that a boy is not so. A 
difference arising at play between the two lads, Master 
Blifil called Tom a beggarly bastard. Upon which the lat¬ 
ter, who was somewhat passionate in his disposition, imme¬ 
diately caused that phenomenon in the face of the former 
which we have above remembered. 

Master Blifil now, with his blood running from his nose, 
and the tears galloping after from his eyes, appeared before 
his uncle and the tremendous Thwackum. In which court 
an indictment of assault, battery, and wounding was in¬ 
stantly preferred against Tom ; who in his excuse only 
pleaded the provocation, which was indeed all the matter 
that Master Blifil had omitted. 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


119 


It is indeed possible that this circumstance might have 
escaped his memory; for, in his reply, he positively in¬ 
sisted that he had made use of no such appellation; adding, 
“ Heaven forbid such naughtv words should ever come out 
of his mouth !” 

Tom, though against all form of law, rejoined in affirm 
ance of the words. Upon which Master Blifil said, “ It is 
no wonder. Those who will tell one fib will hardly stick 
at another. If I had told my master such a wicked fib as 
you have done, I should be ashamed to show my face.” 

“ What fib, child ?” cries Thwackum pretty eagerly. 

“ Why, he told you that nobody was with him a shooting 
when he killed the partridge ; but he knows” (here he 
burst into a flood of tears), “ yes, he knows, for he con¬ 
fessed it to me, that Black George, the gamekeeper, was 
there. Hay, he said—yes you did—deny it if you can— 
that you would not have confest the truth, though master 
had cut you to pieces. ’ ’ 

At this the fire flashed from Thwackum’s eyes, and he 
cried out in triumph—“ Oh ! ho ! this is your mistaken 
notion of honor ! This is the boy who was not to be whipped 
again !” But Mr. All worthy, with a more gentle aspect, 
turned towards the lad,, and said, “ Is this true, child ? 
How came you to persist so obstinately in a falsehood ?” 

Tom said, “ He scorned a lie as much as any one : but 
he thought his honor engaged him to act as he did ; for he 
had promised the poor fellow to conceal him : which,” he 
said, u he thought himself farther obliged to, as the game- 
keeper had begged him not to go into the gentleman’s 
manor, and had at last gone himself, in compliance with his 
persuasions.” He said, 66 this was the whole truth of the 
matter, and he would take his oath of it ;” and concluded 
with very passionately begging Mr. Allworthy u to have 
compassion on the poor fellow’s family, especially as he 
himself had been only guilty, and the other had been very 



120 


TIIE HISTORY OF 


difficultly prevailed on to do what he did. Indeed, sir,” 
said he, “ it could hardly be called a lie that I told ; for 
the poor fellow was entirely innocent of the whole matter. 
I should have gone alone after the birds ; nay, I did go at 
first, and he only followed me to prevent more mischief. 
Do, pray, sir, let me be punished ; take my little horse 
away again ; but pray, sir, forgive poor George. ’ ’ 

Mr. Allworthy hesitated a few moments, and then dis¬ 
missed the boys, advising them to live more friendly and 
peaceably together. 


CHAPTER V. 

» 

THE OPINIONS OF THE DIVINE AND THE PHILOSOPHER CON¬ 
CERNING THE TWO BOYS ; WITH SOME REASONS FOR THEIR 
OPINIONS, AND OTHER MATTERS. 

It is probable that by disclosing this secret, which had 
been communicated in the utmost confidence to him, young 
Blifil preserved his companion from a good lashing ; for 
the offence of the bloody nose would have been of itself 
sufficient cause for Thwackum to have proceeded to correc¬ 
tion ; but now this was totally absorbed in the consideration 
of the other matter ; and with regard to this, Mr. All- 
worthy declared privately he thought the boy deserved 
reward rather than punishment, so that Tliwackuin’s hand 
was withheld by a general pardon. 

Thwackum, whose meditations were full of birch, ex¬ 
claimed against this weak, and, as he said he would ven¬ 
ture to call it, wicked lenity. To remit the punishment of 
such crimes was, he said, to encourage them. He enlarged 
much on the correction of children, and quoted many texts 
from Solomon, and others ; which, being to be found in so 
many other books, shall not be found here. He then ap- 


121 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

plied himself to the vice of lying, on which head he was 
altogether as learned as he had been on the other. 

Square said he had been endeavoring to reconcile the 
behavior of Tom with his idea of perfect virtue, but could 
not. He owned there was something which at first sight 
appeared like fortitude in the action ; but as fortitude was 
a virtue, and falsehood a vice, they could by no means 
agree or unite together. He added, that as this was in some 
measure to confound virtue and vice, it might be worth Mr. 
Thwackum’s consideration whether a larger castigation 
might not be laid on upon the account. 

As both these learned men concurred in censuring Jones, 
so were they no less unanimous in applauding Master Blifil. 
To bring truth to light was by the parson asserted to be 
the duty of every religious man ; and by the philosopher 
this was declared to be highly conformable with the rule of 
right, and the eternal and unalterable fitness of things. 

All this, however, weighed very little with Mr. All¬ 
worthy. lie could not be prevailed on to sign the warrant 
for the execution of Jones. There was something within 
his own breast with which the invincible fidelity which that 
youth had preserved corresponded much better than it had 
done with the religion of Thwackum or with the virtue of 
Square. lie therefore strictly ordered the former of these 
gentlemen to abstain from laying violent hands on Tom 
for what had passed. The pedagogue was obliged to obey 
those orders ; but not without great reluctance, and fre¬ 
quent mutterings that the boy would be certainly spoiled. 

Towards the gamekeeper the good man behaved with 
more severity. He presently summoned that poor fellow 
before him, and, after many bitter remonstrances, paid him 
his wages, and dismissed him from his service ; for Mr. All 
worthy rightly observed that there was a great difference 
between being guilty of a falsehood to excuse yourself and 
to excuse another. He likewise urged, as the principal 





122 


THE I1ISTOBY OF 


motive to his inflexible severity against this man, that he 
had basely suffered Tom Jones to undergo so heavy a 
punishment for his sake, whereas he ought to have pre¬ 
vented it by making the discovery himself. 

When this story became public, many people differed 
from Square and Thwackum in judging the conduct of 
the two lads on the occasion. Master Blifil was generally 
called a sneaking rascal, a poor-spirited wretch, with other 
epithets of the like kind ; whilst Tom was honored with 
the appellations of a brave lad, 9 jolly dog, and an honest 
fellow. Indeed, his behavior to Black George much in¬ 
gratiated him with all the servants ; for though that fellow 
was before universally disliked, yet he was no sooner turned 
away than he was as universally pitied ; and the friendship 
and gallantry of Tom Jones was celebrated by them all. 
with the highest applause ; and they condemned Master 
Blifil as openly as they durst, without incurring the danger 
of offending his mother. For all this, however, poor Tom 
smarted in the flesh ; for though Thwackum had been 
inhibited to exercise his arm on the foregoing account, yet, 
as the proverb says, It is easy to find a stick, etc. So was 
it easy to find a rod ; and, indeed, the not being able to find 
one was the only thing which could have kept Thwackum 
any long time from chastising poor Jones. 

Had the bare delight in the sport been the only induce¬ 
ment to the pedagogue, it is probable Master Blifil would 
likewise have had his share ; but though Mr. Allworthy 
had given him frequent orders to make no difference be¬ 
tween the lads, yef was Thwackum altogether as kind and 
gentle to this youth as he was harsh, nay, even barbarous, 
to the other. To say the truth, Blifil had greatly gained his 
master’s affections ; partly by the profound respect he 
always showed his person, but much more by the decent 
reverence with which he received his doctrine ; for he had 
got by heart, and frequently repeated, his phrases and 


TOM JOKES: A FO UKDLIKG. 


123 


maintained all his master’s religions principles with a zeal 
which was surprising in one so young, and which greatly 
endeared him to the worthy preceptor. 

Tom Jones, on the other hand, was not only deficient in 
outward tokens of respect, often forgetting to pull off his 
hat or to bow at his master’s approach, but was altogether 
as unmindful both of his master’s precepts and example. 
He was indeed a thoughtless, giddy youth, with little so¬ 
briety in his manners, and less in his countenance, and 
would often very impudently and indecently laugh at his 
companion for his serious behavior. 

Mr. Square had the same reason for his preference of the 
former lad ; for Tom Jones showed no more regard to the 
learned discourses which this gentleman would sometimes 
•throw away upon him, than to those of Thwackum. He 
once ventured to make a jest of the rule of right ; and at 
another time said he believed there was no rule in the 
world capable of making such a man as his father (for so 
Mr. Allworthy suffered himself to be called). 

Master Blifil, on the contrary, had address enough at 
sixteen to recommend himself at one and the same time to 
both these opposites. With one he was all religion, with 
the other he was all virtue. And when both were present, 
he was profoundly silent, which both interpreted in his 
favor and in their own. 

Nor was Blifil contented with flattering both these gen¬ 
tlemen to their faces ; he took frequent occasions of prais¬ 
ing them behind their backs to All worthy ; before whom, 
when they two were alone, and his uncle commended any 
religious or virtuous sentiment (for many such came con¬ 
stantly from him), he seldom failed to ascribe it to the good 
instructions he had received from either Thwackum or 
Square ; for he knew his uncle repeated all such compli¬ 
ments to the persons for whose use they were meant ; and 
he found by experience the great impressions which they 





124 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


made on the philosopher, as well as on the divine : for. to 
say the truth, there is no kind of flattery so irresistible as 
this, at second hand. 

The young gentleman, moreover, soon perceived how 
extremely grateful all those panegyrics on his instructors 
were to Mr. Allworthy himself, as they so loudly resounded 
the praise of that singular plan of education which he had 
laid down ; for this worthy man having observed the im¬ 
perfect institution of our public schools, and the many vices 
which boys were there liable to learn, had resolved to edu¬ 
cate his nephew, as well as the other lad, whom he had in 
a manner adopted, in his own house, where he thought 
their morals would escape all that danger of being cor¬ 
rupted to which they would be unavoidably exposed in any 
public school or university. 

Having, therefore, determined to commit these boys to 
the tuition of a private tutor, Mr. Thwackum was recom¬ 
mended to him for that office, by a very particular friend, 
of whose understanding Mr. Allwortliy had a great opinion, 
and in whose integrity he placed much confidence. This 
Thwackum was fellow of a college, where he almost en¬ 
tirely resided, and had a great reputation for learning, 
religion, and sobriety of manners. And these were doubt¬ 
less the qualifications by which Mr. Allworthy’s friend had 
been induced to recommend him ; though indeed this 
friend had some obligations to Thwackum’s family, who 
were the most considerable persons in a borough which 
that gentleman represented in Parliament. 

Thwackum, at his first arrival, was extremely agreeable 
to Allworthy ; and indeed he perfectly answered the char¬ 
acter which had been given of him. Upon longer acquaint 
ance, however, and more intimate conversation, this worthy 
man saw infirmities in the tutor which he could have wished 
him to have been without ; though as those seemed greath 
overbalanced by his good qualities, they did not incline Mr. 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


125 


Allwortliy to part with him: nor would they indeed have 
justified such a proceeding ; for the reader is greatly mis¬ 
taken if he conceives that Thwackum appeared to Mr. 
Allwortliy in the same light as he doth to him in this His¬ 
tory ; and he is as much deceived if he imagines that the 
most intimate acquaintance which he himself could have 
had with that divine would have informed him of those 
things which we, from our inspiration, are enabled to open 
and discover. Of readers who, from such conceits as 
these, condemn the wisdom or penetration of Mr. Allwor¬ 
thy, I shall not scruple to say that they make a very bad 

i and ungrateful use of that knowledge which we have com¬ 
municated to them. 

These apparent errors in the doctrine of Thwackum 
served greatly to palliate the contrary errors in that of 
Square, which our good man no less saw and condemned, 
lie thought, indeed, that the different exuberancies of 
these gentlemen would correct their different imperfections, 
and that from both, especially with his assistance, the two 
lads would derive sufficient precepts of true religion and 
virtue. If the event happened contrary to his expectations, 
this possibly proceeded from some fault in the plan itself, 
which the reader hath my leave to discover, if he can : for 
we do not pretend to introduce any infallible characters into 
this history, where w r e hope nothing will be found which 
; hath never yet been seen in human nature. 

To return therefore : the reader will not, I think, won¬ 
der that the different behavior of the two lads above com¬ 
memorated produced the different effects of which lie hath 
already seen some instance ; and besides this, there was 
another reason for the conduct of the philosopher and the 
pedagogue ; but this being matter of great importance, we 
shall reveal it in the next chapter. 






126 


THE HISTORY OF 


CHAPTER VI. 

CONTAINING A BETTER REASON STILL FOR THE BEFORE-MEN 

TIONED OPINIONS. 

It is to be known, then, that those two learned person¬ 
ages, who have lately made a considerable figure on the 
theatre of this history, had, from their first arrival at Mr. 
Allworthy’s house, taken so great an affection, the one to 
his virtue, the other to his religion, that they had medi¬ 
tated the closest alliance with him. 

For this purpose they had cast their eyes on that fair 
widow, whom, though we have not for some time made 
any mention of her, the reader, we trust, hath not forgot. 
Mrs. Blifil was indeed the object to which they both as¬ 
pired. 

It may seem remarkable, that, of four persons whom 
we have commemorated at Mr. Allworthy’s house, three of 
them should fix their inclinations on a lady who was never 
greatly celebrated for her beauty, and who was, moreover, 
now a little descended into the vale of years ; but in reality 
bosom friends and intimate acquaintance have a kind of 
natural propensity to particular females at the house of a 
friend—viz., to his grandmother, mother, sister, daughter, 
aunt, niece, and cousin, when they are rich ; and to his 
wife, sister, daugther, niece, cousin, mistress, or servant- 
maid, if they should be handsome. 

We would not, however, have our reader imagine that 
persons of such characters as were supported by Thwackum 
and Square would undertake a matter of this kind, which 
hath been a little censured by some rigid moralists, before 
they had thoroughly examined it, and considered whether 
it was (as Shakespeare phrases it) “ Stuff o’ tli’ con- 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 127 

\ science,” or no. Tliwackum was encouraged to the under¬ 
taking by reflecting that to covet your neighbor’s sister is 
nowhere forbidden : and he knew it was a rule in the con 
struction of all laws that ( c Expressum facit cessare taoi- 
\ turn . ” The sense of which is, u When a lawgiver sets 
down plainly his whole meaning, we are prevented from 
making him mean what we please ourselves.” As some in¬ 
stances of women, therefore, are mentioned in the divine 
law, which forbids us to covet our neighbor’s goods, and 
that of a sister omitted, he concluded it to be lawful. And 
> as to Square, who was in his person what is called a jolly 
fellow, or a widow’s man, he easily reconciled his choice 
to the eternal fitness of things. 

Now, as both of these gentlemen were industrious in 
taking every opportunity of recommending themselves to 
the widow, they apprehended one certain method was by 
/ giving her son the constant preference to the other lad ; 

I and as 

I All worthy showed the latter must be highly disagreeable 

I to her, they doubted not but the laying hold on all occa¬ 
sions to degrade and vilify him would be highly pleasing to 
i her ; who, as she hated the boy, must love all those who 

I did him any hurt. In this Tliwackum had the advantage ; 
for while Square could only scarify the poor lad’s reputa¬ 
tion, he could flay his skin ; and, indeed, he considered 
every lash he gave him as a compliment paid to his mis¬ 
tress ; so that he could, with the utmost propriety, repeat 
this old flogging line, “ Castigo te non quod odio habeam, 
sed quod Amem. I chastise thee not out of hatred, but out 
of love. ” And this, indeed, he often had in his mouth, 
or rather, according to the old phrase, never more properly 
applied, at his fingers’ ends. 

For this reason, principally, the two gentlemen con 
curred, as w T e have seen above, in their opinion concerning 
1 the two lads ; this being, indeed, almost the only instance 


they conceived the kindness and affection which Mr. 






128 


THE ITT ST OR Y OF 


of tlieir concurring on any point : for, beside the differ¬ 
ence of their principles, they had both long ago strongly 
suspected each other’s design, and hated one another with 
no little degree of inveteracy. 

This mntnal animosity was a good deal increased by tlieii 
alternate successes ; for Mrs. Blifil knew what they would 
be at long before they imagined it ; or, indeed, intended 
she should : for they proceeded with great caution, lest she 
should be offended, and acquaint Mr. Allwortliy. But 
they had no reason for any such fear ; she was well enough 
pleased with a passion of which she intended none should 
have any fruits but herself. And the only fruits she de¬ 
signed for herself were flattery and courtship ; for which 
purpose she soothed them by turns, and a long time equally. 
She was, indeed, rather inclined to favor the parson’s prin¬ 
ciples ; but Square’s person was more agreeable to her eye, 
for he was a comely man ; whereas the pedagogue did in 
countenance very nearly resemble that gentleman, who, in 
the Harlot’s Progress, is seen correcting the ladies in Bride¬ 
well. 

Whether Mrs. Blifil had been surfeited with the sweets 
of marriage, or disgusted by its bitters, or from what other 
cause it proceeded, I will not determine ; but she could 
never be brought to listen to any second proposals. How¬ 
ever, she at last conversed with Square with such a degree of 
intimacy that malicious tongqes began to whisper things of 
her, to which, as well for the sake of the lady as that they 
were highly disagreeable to the rule of right and the 
fitness of things, we will give no credit, and therefore 
shall not blot our paper with them. The pedagogue, ’tis 
certain, whipped on, without getting a step nearer to his 
journey’s end. 

Indeed he had committed a great error, and that Square 
discovered much sooner than himself. Mrs. Blifil (as, per¬ 
haps, the reader may have formerly guessed) was not over 



129 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

and above pleased with the behavior of her husband ; nay, 
to be honest, she absolutely hated him, till his death at last 
a little reconciled him to her affections. It will not be 
tlierelore greatly wondered at, if she had not the most vio¬ 
lent regard to the offspring she had by him. And, in fact, 
she had so little of this regard, that in his infancy she sel¬ 
dom saw her son, or took any notice of him ; and hence she 
acquiesced, after a little reluctance, in all the favors which 
Mr. Allworthy showered on the foundling ; whom the good 
man called his own boy, and in all things put on an entire 
equality with Master Blifil. This acquiescence in Mrs. Blifil 
was considered by the neighbors, and by the family, as 
a mark of her condescension to her brother’s humor, and 
she was imagined by all others, as well as Thwackum and 
Square, to hate the foundling in her heart ; nay, the more 
civility she showed him, the more they conceived she de¬ 
tested him, and the surer schemes she was laying for his 
ruin : for as they thought it her interest to hate him, it 
was very difficult for her to persuade them she did not. 

Thwackum was the more confirmed in his opinion, as 
she had more than once slyly caused him to whip Tom 
Jones, when Mr. Allworthy, who was an enemy to this 
exercise, was abroad ; whereas she had never given any 
such orders concerning young Blifil. And this had like* 
wise imposed upon Square. In reality, though she cer¬ 
tainly hated her own son—of which, however monstrous it 
appears, I am assured she is not a singular instance—she 
appeared, notwithstanding all her outward compliance, to 
be in her heart sufficiently displeased with all the favor 
shown by Mr. Allworthy to the foundling. She fre¬ 
quently complained of this behind her brother’s back, and 
very sharply censured him for it, both to Thwackum and 
Square ; nay, she would throw it in the teeth of Allworthy 
himself, when a little quarrel, or miff, as it is vulgarly 
called, arose between them. 





130 


THE HISTORY OR 1 

However, when Tom grew np, and gave tokens of that 
gallantry of temper which greatly recommends men to 
women, this disinclination which she had discovered to him 
when a child, by degrees abated, and at last she so evi¬ 
dently demonstrated her affection to him to he much 
stronger than what she bore her own son, that it was im¬ 
possible to mistake her any longer. She was so desirous of 
often seeing him, and discovered such satisfaction and de¬ 
light in his company, that before he was eighteen years old 
he was become a rival to both Square and Thwackum ; 
and, what is worse, the whole country began to talk as loudly 
of her inclination to Tom as they had before done of that 
which she had shown to Square ; on which account the 
philosopher conceived the most implacable hatred for our 
poor hero. 


CHAPTEK YII. 

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR HIMSELF MAKES HIS APPEARANCE ON 

THE STAGE. 

Though Mr. Allwortliy was not of himself hasty to see 
things in a disadvantageous light, and was a stranger to the 
public voice, which seldom reaches to a brother or a hus¬ 
band, though it rings in the ears of all the neighborhood, 
yet was this affection of Mrs. Blifil to Tom, and the pref¬ 
erence which she too visibly gave him to her own son, of 
the utmost disadvantage to that youth. 

For such was the compassion which inhabited Mr. All¬ 
worthy’s mind, that nothing but the steel of justice could 
ever subdue it. To be unfortunate in any respect was suf¬ 
ficient, if there was no demerit to counterpoise it, to turn the 
scale of that good man’s pity, and to engage his friendship 
and his benefaction. 

When therefore he plainly saw Master Blifil was abso 


131 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 

lutely detested (for tliat lie was) by liis own mother, lie be¬ 
gan, on that account only, to look with an eye of compas¬ 
sion upon him ; and what the effects.of compassion are, in 
good and benevolent minds, I need not here explain to most 
of my readers. 

Henceforward lie saw every appearance of virtue in the 
youth through the magnifying end, and viewed all his faults 
with the glass inverted, so that they became scarce percep¬ 
tible. And this perhaps the amiable temper of pity may 
make commendable ; but the next step the weakness of hu¬ 
man nature alone must excuse ; for he no sooner perceived 
that preference which Mrs. Blifil gave to Tom, than that 
poor youth (however innocent) began to sink in his affec¬ 
tions as he rose in hers. This, it is true, would of itself 
alone never have been able to eradicate Jones from his 
bosom ; but it was greatly injurious to him, and prepared 
Mr. Allworthy’s mind for those impressions which after¬ 
wards produced the mighty events that will be contained 
hereafter in this history ; and to which, it must be confessed 
the unfortunate lad, by his own wantonness, wildness, and 
want of caution, too much contributed. 

In recording some instances of these, we shall, if rightly 
understood, afford a very useful lesson to those well-dis¬ 
posed youths who shall hereafter be our readers ; for they 
may here find that goodness of heart and openness of 
temper, though these may give them greater comfort 
within, and administer to an honest pride in their own 
minds, will by no means, alas ! do their business in the 
world. Prudence and circumspection are necessary even to 
the best of men. They are indeed, as it were, a guard to 
Virtue, without which she can never be safe. It is not 
enough that your designs, nay, that your actions, are in¬ 
trinsically good ; you must take care they shall appear so. 
If your inside be never so beautiful, you must preserve a fair 
outside also. This must be constantly looked to* or malice 







132 


THE HISTORY OF 


and envy will take care to blacken it so, that the sagacity 
and goodness of an Allworthy will not be able to see 
through it, and to discern the beauties within. Let this, 
my young readers, be your constant maxim, that no man 
can be good enough to enable him to neglect the rules of 
prudence ; nor will Virtue herself look beautiful unless she 
be bedecked with the outward ornaments of decency and 
decorum. And this precept, my worthy disciples, if you 
read with due attention, you will, I hope, find sufficiently 
enforced by examples in the following pages. 

I ask pardon for this short appearance, by way of chorus, 
on the stage. It is in reality for my own sake that, while 
I am discovering the rocks on which innocence and goodness 
often split, I may not be misunderstood to recommend the 
very means to my worthy readers by which I intend to 
show them they will be undone. And this, as I could not 
prevail on any of my actors to speak, I was obliged to de¬ 
clare myself. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A CHILDISH INCIDENT, IN WHICH, HOWEVER, IS SEEN A GOOD- 
NATURED DISPOSITION IN TOM JONES. 

The reader may remember that Mr. All worthy gave Tom 
Jones a little horse, as a kind of smart-money for the pun¬ 
ishment which he imagined he had suffered innocently. 

This horse Tom kept above half a year, and then rode 
him to a neighboring fair, and sold him. 

On his return, being questioned by Thwackum what he 
had done with the money for which the horse was sold, 
he frankly declared he would not tell him. 

“ 01l ° says Thwackum, “you will not ! then I will 
have it out of your br—h that being the place to which 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 133 

he always applied for information on every doubtful oc¬ 
casion. 

Tom was now mounted on the back of a footman, and 
everything prepared for execution, when Mr. Allworthy, 
entering the room, gave the criminal a reprieve, and took 
him with him into another apartment', where, Mr. All- 
worthy being only present with Tom, he put the same ques¬ 
tion to him which Thwackum had before asked him. 

T om answered he could in duty refuse him nothing ; 
but as for that tyrannical rascal, he - would never make him 
any other answer than with a cudgel, with which he hoped 
soon to be able to pay him for all his barbarities. 

Mr. All worthy very severely reprimanded the lad for his 
indecent and disrespectful expressions concerning his mas¬ 
ter ; but much more for his avowing an intention of re¬ 
venge. He threatened him with the entire loss of his favor, 
if he ever heard such another word from his mouth ; for, 
he said, he would never support or befriend a reprobate. 
By these and the like declarations, he extorted some com¬ 
punction from Tom, in which that youth was not over-sin¬ 
cere ; for he really meditated some return for all the smart¬ 
ing favors he had received at the hands of the pedagogue, 
lie was, however, brought by Mr. Allworthy to express a 
concern for his resentment against Thwackum ; and then 
the good man, after some wholesome admonition, permitted 
him to proceed, which he did as follows : 

“ Indeed, my dear sir, I love and honor you more than all 
the world : J know the great obligations I have to you, and 
should detest myself if I thought my heart was capable of 
ingratitude. Could the little horse you gave me speak, I 
am sure he could tell you how fond I was of your present ; 
for I had more pleasure in feeding him than in riding him. 
Indeed, sir, it went to my heart to part with him ; nor 
would I have sold him upon any other account in the world 
than what I did. You yourself, sir, I am convinced, in my 








134 


THE HISTORY OF 


case, would have done the same : for none ever so sensibly 
felt the misfortunes of others. What would you feel, dear 
sir, if you thought yourself the occasion of them ? Indeed, 
sir, there never was any misery like theirs.” 

“Like whose, child ?” says Allworthy : “ What do you 
mean ?” 

“Oh, sir!” answered Tom, “your poor gamekeeper, 
with all his large family, ever since your discarding him, 
have been perishing with all the miseries of cold and hun¬ 
ger : I could not bear to see these poor wretches naked and 
starving, and at the same time know myself to have been 
the occasion of all their sufferings. I could not bear it, 
sir; upon my soul, 1 could not.” [Here the tears ran 
down his cheeks, and he thus proceeded.] “ It was to save 
them from absolute destruction I parted with your dear 
present, notwithstanding all the value I had for it : I sold 
the horse for them, and they have every farthing of the 
money. ” 

Mr. Allworthy now stood silent for some moments, and 
before he spoke the tears started from his eyes. He .at 
length dismissed Tom with a gentle rebuke, advising him 
for the future to apply to him in cases of distress, rather 
than to use extraordinary means of relieving them himself. 

This affair was afterwards the subject of much debate be¬ 
tween Thwackum and Square. Thwackum held that this 
was flying in Mr. Allworthy’s face, who had intended to 
punish the fellow for his disobedience. He said in some 
instances what the world called charity appeared to him to 
be opposing the will of the Almighty, which had marked 
some particular persons for destruction ; and that this was 
in like manner acting in opposition to Mr. Allworthy, con¬ 
cluding, as usual, with a hearty recommendation of birch 

Square argued strongly on the other side, in opposition 
perhaps to Thwackum, or in compliance with Mr. All¬ 
worthy, who seemed very much to approve what Jones had 


135 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

done. As to what lie urged on this occasion, as I am con¬ 
vinced most of my readers will he much abler advocates for 
poor Jones, it would be impertinent to relate it. Indeed it 
was not difficult to reconcile to the rule of right an action 
which it would have been impossible to deduce from the 
rule of wrong. 


CHAPTER IX. 

CONTAINING AN INCIDENT OF A MORE HEINOUS KIND, WITH 
THE COMMENTS OF THWACKUM AND SQUARE. 

It hath been observed by some man of much greater 
reputation for wisdom than myself, that misfortunes seldom 
come single. An instance of this may, I believe, be seen 
in those gentlemen who have the misfortune to have any of 
their rogueries detected ; for here discovery seldom stops 
till the whole is come out. Thus it happened to poor 
Tom, who was no sooner pardoned for selling the horse 
than he was discovered to have some time before sold a 
fine Bible which Mr. Allworthy gave him, the money 
arising from which sale he had disposed in the same man¬ 
ner. This Bible Master Blifil had purchased, though he 
had already such another of his own, partly out of respect 
for the book, and partly out of friendship to Tom, being 
unwilling that the Bible should be sold out of the family at 
half price. He therefore deposited the said half price him¬ 
self ; for he was a very prudent lad, and so careful of his 
money that he had laid up almost every penny which he 
had received from Mr. Allworthy. 

Some people have been noted to be able to read in no 
book but their own. On the contrary, from the time when 
Master Blifil was first possessed of this Bible, he never used 
any other. Hay, he was seen reading in it much oftener 
than he had before been in his own. Now, as he frequently 




136 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


asked Tliwackum to explain difficult passages to him, that 
gentleman unfortunately took notice of Tom’s name, which 
was written in many parts of the hook. This brought on 
an inquiry, which obliged Master Blihl to discover the 
whole matter. 

Thwackum was resolved a crime of this kind, which he 
called sacrilege, should not go unpunished. * He therefore 
proceeded immediately to castigation : and not contented 
with that, he acquainted Mr. All worthy, at their next meet¬ 
ing, with this monstrous .crime, as it appeared to him : 
inveighing against Tom in the most bitter terms, and liken¬ 
ing him to the buyers and sellers who were driven out of 
the temple. 

Square saw this matter in a very different light. He 
said he could not perceive any higher crime in selling one 
book than in selling another. That to sell Bibles was 
strictly lawful by all laws, both Divine and human, and con¬ 
sequently there was no unfitness in it. He told Thwackum 
that his great concern on this occasion brought to his mind 
the story of a very devout woman, who, out of pure regard 
to religion, stole Tillotson’s Sermons from a lady of her 
acquaintance. 

This story caused a vast quantity of blood to rush into 
the parson’s face, which of itself was none of the palest ; 
and he was going to reply with great warmth and anger, 
had not Mrs. Blifil, who was present at this debate, inter¬ 
posed. That lady declared herself absolutely of Mr. 
Square’s side. She argued, indeed, very learnedly in sup¬ 
port of his opinion ; and concluded with saying if Tom had 
been guilty of any fault, she must confess her own son ap¬ 
peared to be equally culpable ; for that she could see no 
difference between the buyer and the seller, both of whom 
were alike to be driven out of the temple. 

Mrs. Blifil having declared her opinion, put an end to 
the debate. Square’s triumph would almost have stopt his 


13 ? 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

words, had lie needed them ; and Thwackum, besides that, 
for reasons before mentioned, durst not venture at disoblig¬ 
ing the lady, was almost choked with indignation. As to 
Mr. Allworthy, he said since the boy had been already 
punished he would not deliver his sentiments on the occa¬ 
sion ; and whether he was or was not angry with the lad, I 
must leave to the reader’s own conjecture. 

Soon after this, an action was brought against the game- 
keeper by Squire Weston (the gentleman in whose manor 
the partridge was killed) for depredations of the like kind. 
This was a most unfortunate circumstance for the fellow, 
as it not only of itself threatened his ruin, but actually pre¬ 
vented Mr. Allwortliy from restoring him to his favor : for 
as that gentleman was walking out one evening with Master 
Blifil and young Jones, the latter slyly drew him to the 
habitation of Black George, where the family of that poor 
wretch, namely, his wife and children, were found in all 
the misery with which cold, hunger, and nakedness can 
affect human creatures : for as to the money they had re¬ 
ceived from Jones, former debts had consumed almost the 
whole. 

Such a scene as this could not fail of affecting the heart 
of Mr. Allworthy. He immediately gave the mother a 
couple of guineas, with which he bid her clothe her chil¬ 
dren. The poor woman burst into tears at this goodness, 
and while she was thanking him, could not refrain from 
expressing her gratitude to Tom, who had, she said, long 
preserved both her and hers from starving. “ We have 
not,” says she, “ had a morsel to eat, nor have these }:>oor 
children had a rag to put on, but what his goodness hath 
bestowed on us. ” For, indeed, besides the horse and the 
Bible, Tom had sacrificed a night-gown, and other things, 
to the use of this distressed family. 

On their return home, Tom made use of all his eloquence to 
display the wretchedness of these people, and the penitence 








138 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


of Black George himself ; and in this he succeeded so well 
that Mr. Allworthy said he thought the man had suffered 
enough for what was past ; that he would forgive him, and 
think of some means of providing for him and his family. 

Jones was so delighted with this news that, though it 
was dark when they returned home, he could not help 
going back a mile, in a shower of rain, to acquaint the poor 
woman with the glad tidings ; but, like other hasty divulg- 
ers of news, he only brought on himself the trouble of con¬ 
tradicting it : for the ill fortune of Black George made use 
of the very opportunity of his friend’s absence to overturn 
all again. 


CHAPTER X. 

IN WHICH MASTER BLIFIL AND JONES APPEAR IN DIFFER¬ 
ENT LIGHTS. 

Master Blifil fell very short of his companion in the 
amiable quality of mercy ; but he as greatly exceeded him 
in one of a much higher kind, namely, in justice, in which 
he followed both the precepts and example of Tliwackum 
and Square ; for though they would both make frequent 
use of the word mercy, yet it ivas plain that in reality 
Square held it to be inconsistent with the rule of right ; 
and Tliwackum was for doing justice, and leaving mercy to 
heaven. The two gentlemen did indeed someivhat differ in 
opinion concerning tlio objects of this sublime virtue ; by 
which Tliwackum would probably have destroyed one half 
of mankind, and Square the other half. 

Master Blifil, then, though he had kept silence in the 
presence of Jones, yet, when he had better considered the 
matter, he could by no means endure the thought of suffer¬ 
ing his uncle to confer favors on the undeserving. lie 
therefore resolved immediately to acquaint him with the 


139 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

fact which we have above slightly hinted to the reader. 
The truth of which was as follows : 

The gamekeeper, about a year after he was dismissed 
from Mr. 'Allworthy’s service, and before Tom’s selling the 
horse, being in want of bread, either to fill his own mouth 
or those of his family, as lie passed through a field belong¬ 
ing to Mr. Western espied a hare sitting in her form. This 
hare he had basely and barbarously knocked on the head, 
against the laws of the land, and no less against the laws of 
sportsmen. 

The higgler to whom the hare was sold, being unfortu¬ 
nately taken many months after with a quantity of game 
upon him, was obliged to make his peace with the squire 
by becoming evidence against some poacher. And now 
Black George was pitched upon by him as being a person 
already obnoxious to Mr. Western, and one of no good 
fame in the country. He was, besides, the best sacrifice 
the higgler could make, as he had supplied him with no 
game since ; and by this means the witness had an oppor¬ 
tunity of screening his better customers : for the squire 
being charmed with the power of punishing Black George, 
whom a single transgression was sufficient to ruin, made no 
further inquiry. 

Had this fact been truly laid before Mr. All worthy, it 
might probably have done the gamekeeper very little mis¬ 
chief. But there is no zeal blinder than that which is in¬ 
spired with the love of justice against offenders. Master 
Blifil had forgot the distance of the time. He varied like¬ 
wise in the manner of the fact ; and by the hasty addition 
of the single letter S he considerably altered the story ; for 
he said that George had wired hares. These alterations 
might probably have been set right had not Master Blifil 
unluckily insisted on a promise of secrecy from Mr. All¬ 
worthy before lie revealed the matter to him ; but by that 
means the poor gamekeeper was condemned without hav- 







140 


TI1E HIST OR Y OF 


ing an opportunity to defend himself : for as the fact of 
killing the hare, and of the action brought, were certainly 
true, Mr. Allworthy had no doubt concerning the rest. 

Short lived, then, was the joy of these poor people, for 
Mr. Allworthy the next morning declared he had fresh 
reason, without assigning it, for his anger, and strictly for¬ 
bade Tom to mention George any more : though as for his 
family, he said he would endeavor to keep them from starv¬ 
ing ; but as to the fellow himself, he would leave him to 
the laws, which nothing could keep him from breaking. 

Tom could by no means divine what had incensed Mr. 
Allworthy, for of Master Blifil he had not the least sus¬ 
picion. However, as his friendship was to be tired out by 
no disappointments, he now determined to try another 
method of preserving the poor gamekeeper from ruin. 

Jones was lately grown very intimate with Mr. Western. 
He had so greatly recommended himself to that gentleman, 
by leaping over five-barred gates, and by other acts of 
sportsmanship, that the squire had declared Tom would 
certainly make a great man if he had but sufficient encour¬ 
agement. He often wished he had himself a son with 
such parts ; and one day very solemnly asserted at a drink¬ 
ing bout that Tom should hunt a pack of hounds for a 
thousand pound of his money with any huntsman in the 
whole county. 

By such kind of talents he had so ingratiated himself with 
the squire that he was a most welcome guest at his table, 
and a favorite companion in his sport ; everything which 
the squire held most dear, to wit, his guns, dogs, and 
horses, were now as much at the command of Jones as if 
they had been his own. He resolved therefore to make use 
of this favor on behalf of his friend Black George, whom 
he hoped to introduce into Mr. Western’s family, in the 
same capacity in which he had before served Mr. All- 
worthy. 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


141 


The reader, if he considers that this fellow was already 
obnoxious to Mr. Western, and if he considers farther the 
weighty business by which that gentleman’s displeasure had 
been incurred, will perhaps condemn this as a foolish and 
desperate undertaking ; but if he should not totally con¬ 
demn young Jones on that account, he will greatly applaud 
him for strengthening himself with all imaginable interest 
on so arduous an occasion. 

For this purpose, then, Tom applied to Mr. Western’s 
daughter, a young lady of about seventeen years of age, 
whom her father, next after those necessary implements of 
sport just before mentioned, loved and esteemed above all 
the world. Now, as she had some influence on the squire, 
so Tom had some little influence on her. But this being 
the intended heroine of this work, a lady with whom we are 
ourselves greatly in love, and with whom many of our read¬ 
ers will probably be in love too before we part, it is by no 
means proper she should make her appearance at the end of 
a book. 








BOOK IV. 


CONTAINING THE TIME OF A YBAR. 


CHAPTEK I. 

CONTAINING FIVE PAGES OF PAPER. 

As truth distinguishes our writings from those idle 
romances which are filled with monsters, the productions, 
not of nature, but of distempered brains, and which have 
been therefore recommended by an eminent critic to the 
sole use of the pastry-cook, so, on the other hand, we 
would avoid any resemblance to that kind of history which 
a celebrated poet seems to think is no less calculated for the 
emolument of the brewer, as the reading it should be 
always attended with a tankard of good are—- 

While—history with her comrade ale, 

Soothes the sad series of her serious tale. 

For as this is the liquor of modern historians, nay, per¬ 
haps their muse, if we may believe the opinion of Butler, 
who attributes inspiration to ale, it ought likewise to be the 
potation of their readers, since every book ought to be read 
with the same spirit and in the same manner as it is writ. 
Thus the famous author of Hurlothrumbo told a learned 
bishop that the reason his lordship could not taste the excel¬ 
lence of his piece was that he did not read it with a fiddle 
in his hand, which instrument he himself had always had 
in his own when he composed it. 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


143 


That our work, therefore, might be in no danger of being 
likened to the labors of these historians, we have taken every 
occasion of interspersing through the whole sundry similes, 
descriptions, and other kind of poetical embellishments. 
These are, indeed, designed to supply the place of the said 
ale, and to refresh the mind, whenever those slumbers, 
which in a long work are apt to invade the reader as well as 
the writer, shall begin to creep upon him. Without inter¬ 
ruptions of this kind, the best narrative of plain matter of 
fact must overpower every reader ; for nothing but the 
everlasting watchfulness, which Homer hath ascribed to 
Jove himself, can be proof against a newspaper of many 
volumes. 

We shall leave to the reader to determine with what judg¬ 
ment we have chosen the several occasions for inserting 
these ornamental parts of our work Surely it will be 
allowed that none could be more proper than the present, 
where we are about to introduce a considerable character on 
the scene ; no less, indeed, than the heroine of this heroic, 
historical, prosaic poem. Here, therefore, we have thought 
proper to prepare the mind of the reader for her reception, 
by filling it with every pleasing image which we can draw 
from the face of nature. And for this method we plead 
many precedents. First, this is an art well known to, and 
much practised by, our tragic poets, who seldom fail to 
prepare their audience for the reception of their principal 
characters. 

Thus the hero is always introduced with a flourish of 
drums and trumpets, in order to rouse a martial spirit in the 
audience, and to accommodate their ears to bombast and 
fustian, which Mr. Lock’s blind man would not have 
grossly erred in likening to the sound of a trumpet. Again, 
when lovers are coming forth, soft music often conducts 
them on the stage, either to soothe the audience with the 
softness of the tender passion, or to lull and prepare them for 









144 


THE IIISTOR Y OF 


that gentle slumber in which they will most probably be 
composed by the ensuing scene. 

And not only the poets, but the masters of these poets, 
the managers of playhouses, seem to be in this secret ; for, 
besides the aforesaid kettledrums, etc., which denote the 
hero’s approach, he is generally ushered on the stage by a 
large troop of half a dozen scene-shifters ; and how neces¬ 
sary these are imagined to his appearance, may be concluded 
from the following theatrical story : 

King Pyrrhus was at dinner at an ale-house bordering on 
the theatre, when he was summoned to go on the stage. 
The hero, being unwilling to quit his shoulder of mutton, 
and as unwilling to draw on himself the indignation of Mr. 
Wilks (his brother-manager) for making the audience wait, 
had bribed these his harbingers to be out of the way. 
While Mr. Wilks, therefore, was thundering out, “ Where 
are the carpenters to walk on before King Pyrrhus ?” that 
monarch very quietly eat his mutton, and the audience, 
however impatient, were obliged to entertain themselves 
with music in his absence. 

To be plain, I must question whether the politician, who 
hath generally a good nose, hath not scented out somewhat 
of the utility of this practice. I am convinced that awful 
magistrate my lord-mayor contracts a good deal of that rev¬ 
erence which attends him through the year, by the several 
pageants which precede his pomp. Kay, I must confess 
that even I myself, who am not remarkably liable to be 
captivated with show, have yielded not a little to the im¬ 
pressions of much preceding state. When I have seen a 
man strutting in a procession, after others whose business 
hath been only to walk before him, I have conceived a 
higher notion of his dignity than I have felt on seeing him 
in a common situation. But there is one instance which 
comes exactly up to my purpose. This is the custom of 
sending on a basket-woman, who is to precede the pomp at 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


145 


a coronation, and to strew the stage with, flowers, before the 
great personages begin their procession. The ancients 
would certainly have invoked the goddess Flora for this 
purpose, and it would have been no difficulty for their 
priests or politicians to have persuaded the people of the 
real presence of the deity, though a plain mortal had per¬ 
sonated her and performed her office. But we lia^e no such 
design of imposing on our reader ; and therefore those who 
object to the heathen theology may, if they please, change 
our goddess into the above-mentioned basket-woman. Our 
intention, in short, is to introduce our heroine with the 
utmost solemnity in our power, with an elevation of style, 
and all other circumstances proper to raise the veneration of 
our reader. Indeed we would, for certain causes, advise 
those of our male readers who have any hearts to read no 
farther, were we not well assured that how amiable soever 
the picture of our heroine will appear, as it is really a copy 
from nature, many of our fair countrywomen will be found 
worthy to satisfy any passion, and to answer any idea of 
female perfection which our pencil will be able to raise. 

And now, without any further preface, we proceed to 
our next chapter. 


CHAPTEK IT. 

A SHORT HINT OF WHAT WE CAN DO IN THE SUBLIME, AND A 
DESCRIPTION OF MISS SOPHIA WESTERN. 

Hushed be every ruder breath. May the heathen ruler 
of the winds confine in iron chains the boisterous limbs of 
noisy Boreas, and the sharp-pointed nose of bitter-biting 
Eurus. Do thou, sweet Zepliyrus, rising from thy fragrant 
bed, mount the western sky, and lead on those delicious 
gales, the charms of which call forth the lovely Flora from 









146 


THE HISTORY OF 


her chamber, perfumed with pearly dews, when on the 1 t 
of June, her birthday, the blooming maid, in loose attire, 
gently trips it over the verdant mead, where eveyy flower 
rises to do her homage, till the whole field becomes enam¬ 
elled, and colors contend with sweets which shall ravish her 
most. 

So charming may she now appear ! and yon the feathered 
choristers of nature, whose sweetest notes not even Ilandel 
can excel, tune your melodious throats to celebrate her ap¬ 
pearance. From love proceeds your music, and to love it 
returns. Awaken therefore that gentle passion in every 
swain : for lo ! adorned with all the charms in which nature 
can array her, bedecked with beauty, youth, sprightliness, 
innocence, modesty, and tenderness, breathing sweetness 
from her rosy lips, and darting brightness from her spark¬ 
ling eyes, the lovely Sophia comes ! 

Header, perhaps thou hast seen the statue of the Venus 
de Medicis. Perhaps, too, thou hast seen the gallery of 
* beauties at Hampton Court. Thou may’st remember each 
bright Churchill of the galaxy, and all the toasts of the 
Kit-cat. Or, if their reign was before thy times, at least 
thou hast seen their daughters, the no less dazzling beauties 
of the present age, whose names, should we here insert, 
we apprehend they would fill the whole volume. 

Now if thou hast seen all these, be not afraid of the rude 
answer which Lord Rochester once gave to a man who had 
seen many things. No. If thou hast seen all these with¬ 
out knowing what beauty is, thou hast no eyes ; if without 
feeling its power, thou hast no heart. 

Yet is it possible, my friend, that thou mayest have seen 
all these without being able to form an exact idea of 
Sophia ; for she did not exactly resemble any of them. 
She was most like the picture of Lady Ranelagh : and, 
I have heard, more still to the famous duchess of Mazarine ; 
but most of all, she resembled one whose image never can 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 147 

depart from my breast, and whom, if thou dost remember, 
thou hast then, my friend, an adequate idea of Sophia. 

But l^st this should not have been thy fortune, we will 
endeavor with our utmost skill to describe this paragon, 
though we are sensible that our highest abilities are very 
inadequate to the task 

, Sophia, then, the only daughter of Mr. Western, was a 
middle-sized woman, but rather inclining to tall. Iler 
shape was not only exact, but extremely delicate: and the 
nice proportion of her arms promised the truest symmetry 
in her limbs. Her hair, which was black, w r as so luxuriant 
that it reached her middle, before she cut it to comply with 
the modern fashion ; and it was now curled so gracefully 
in her neck that few would believe it to be her own. If 
envy could find any part of her face which demanded less 
commendation than the rest, it might possibly think her 
forehead might have been higher without prejudice to her. 
Her eyebrows were full, even, and arched beyond the power 
of art to imitate. Her black eyes had a lustre in them, * 
which all her softness could not extinguish. Her nose was 
exactly regular, and her mouth, in which were two rows of 
ivory, exactly answered Sir John Suckling’s description in 
those lines— 

Her lips were red, and one was thin, 

Compar’d to that was next her chin. 

Some bee had stung it newly. 

Her cheeks were of the oval kind ; and in her right she had 
a dimple, which the least smile discovered. Her chin had 
certainly its share in forming the beauty of her face ; but it 
was difficult to say it was either large or small, though per¬ 
haps it was rather of the former kind. Her complexion 
had rather more of the lily than of the rose; but when ex¬ 
ercise or modesty increased her natural color, no vermilion 
could equal it. Then one might indeed cry out with the 
celebrated Dr. Donne: 



148 


THE HISTORY OF 


-Her pure and eloquent blood 

Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, 

That one might almost say her body thought. 

Her neck was long and finely turned: and here, if I was 
not afraid of offending her delicacy, I might justly say the 
highest beauties of the famous Venus de Medicis were out¬ 
done. Here was whiteness which no lilies, ivory, nor 
alabaster could match. The finest cambric might indeed be 
supposed from envy to cover that bosom which was much 
whiter than itself. It was, indeed, 

Nitor splendens Pario marmore purius. 

A gloss shining beyond the purest brightness of Parian marble. 

Such was the outside of Sophia; nor was this beautiful 
frame disgraced by an inhabitant unworthy of it. Her 
mind was every way equal to her person ; nay, the latter 
borrowed some charms from the former; for when she 
smiled the sweetness of her temper diffused that glory over 
her countenance which no regularity of features can give. 
But as there are no perfections of the mind which do not 
discover themselves in that perfect intimacy to which we 
intend to introduce our reader with this charming young 
creature, so it is needless to mention them here: nay, it is 
a kind of tacit affront to our reader's understanding, and 
may also rob him of that pleasure which he will receive in 
forming his own judgment of her character. 

It may, however, be proper to say that whatever mental 
accomplishments she had derived from nature, they were 
somewhat improved and cultivated by art, for she had been 
educated under the care of an aunt, who was a lady of great 
discretion, and was thoroughly acquainted with the world, 
having lived in her youth about the court, whence she had 
retired some years since into the country. By her conver¬ 
sation and instructions, Sophia was perfectly well bred, 
though perhaps she wanted a little of that ease in her be* 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


140 


havior which is to be acquired only by habit, and living 
within what is called the polite circle. But this, to say the 
truth, is often too dearly purchased ; and though it hath 
charms so inexpressible, that the French, perhaps, among 
other qualities, mean to express this, when they declare they 
know not what it is, yet its absence is well compensated by 
innocence ; nor can good sense and a natural gentility ever 
stand in need of it. 


CHAPTER TIL 

WHEREIN THE HISTORY GOES BACK TO COMMEMORATE A TRI¬ 
FLING INCIDENT THAT HAPPENED SOME YEARS SINCE ; BUT 

WHICH, TRIFLING AS IT WAS, HAD SOME FUTURE CONSE¬ 
QUENCES. 

The amiable Sophia was now in her eighteenth year, 
when she is introduced into this history. Her father, as 
hath been said, was fonder of her than of any other human 
creature. To her, therefore, Tom Jones applied, in order 
to engage her interest on the behalf of his friend the game- 
keeper. 

But before we proceed to this business, a short recapitula 
tion of some previous matters may be necessary. 

Though the different tempers of Mr. Allworthy and of 
Mr. Western did not admit of a very intimate correspond¬ 
ence, yet they lived upon what is called a decent footing 
together, by which means the young people of both fam¬ 
ilies had been acquainted from their infancy ; and as they 
were all near of the same age, had been frequent playmates 
together. 

The gayety of Tom’s temper suited better with Sophia 
than the grave and sober disposition of Master Blifil. And 
the preference which she gave the former of these would 





150 


THE HIST Oil Y OF 


often appear so plainly that a lad of a more passionate turn 
than Master Blifil was might have shown some displeasure 
at it. 

As he did not, however, outwardly express any such dis¬ 
gust, it would be an ill office in us to pay a visit to the in¬ 
most recesses of his mind, as some scandalous people search 
into the most secret affairs of their friends, and often pry 
into their closets and cupboards, only to discover their pov¬ 
erty and meanness to the world. 

However, as persons who suspect they have given others 
cause of offence are apt to conclude they are offended, so 
Sophia imputed an action of Master Blifil to his anger, 
which the superior sagacity of Thwackum and Square dis¬ 
cerned to have arisen from a much better principle. 

Tom Jones, when very young, had presented Sophia with 
a little bird, which he had taken from the nest, had nursed 
up, and taught to sing. 

Of this bird, Sophia, then about thirteen years old, was 
so extremely fond that her chief business was to feed and 
tend it, and her chief pleasure to play with it. By these 
means little Tommy, for so the bird was called, was become 
so tame that it would feed out of the hand of its mistress, 
would perch upon her finger, and he contented in her 
bosom, where it seemed almost sensible of its own happi¬ 
ness ; though she always kept a small string about its leg, 
nor would ever trust it with the liberty of flying away. 

One day, when Mr. Allwortliy and his whole family 
dined at Mr. Western’s, Master Blifil, being in the garden 
with little Sophia, and observing the extreme fondness that 
she showed for her little bird, desired her to trust it for' a 
moment in his hands. Sophia presently complied with the 
young gentleman’s request, and, after some previous cau¬ 
tion, delivered him her bird, of which he was no sooner in 
possession than he slipped the string from its leg and tossed 
it into the air. 



151 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

The foolisli animal no sooner perceived itself at liberty 
than, forgetting all the favors it had received from Sophia, 
it flew directly from her, and perched on a bough at some 
distance. 

Sophia, seeing her bird gone, screamed out so loud that 
Tom Jones, who was at a little distance, immediately ran to 
her assistance. 

He was no sooner informed of what had happened than 
he cursed Blifil for a pitiful malicious rascal ; and then im¬ 
mediately stripping off his coat, he applied himself to climb- 
ing the tree to which the bird escaped. 

Tom had almost recovered his little namesake, when the 
branch on which it was perched, and that hung over a canal, 
broke, and the poor lad plumped over head and ears into 
the water. 

Sophia’s concern now changed its object. And as she 
apprehended the boy’s life was in danger, she screamed ten 
times louder than before ; and indeed Master Blifil himself 
now seconded her with all the vociferation in his power. 

The company, who were sitting in a room next the gar¬ 
den, were instantly alarmed, and came all forth ; but just 
as they reached the canal, Tom (for the water was luckily 
pretty shallow in that part) arrived safely on shore. 

Thwackum fell violently on poor Tom, who stood drop¬ 
ping and shivering before him, when Mr. Allworthy desired 
him to have patience ; and turning to Master Blifil, said, 
“ Bray, child, what is the reason of all this disturbance ?” 

Master Blifil answered, “ Indeed, uncle, I am very sorry 
for what I have done ; I have been unhappily the occasion 
of it all. I had Miss Sophia’s bird in my hand, and think¬ 
ing the poor creature languished for liberty, I own I could 
not forbear giving it what it desired, for I always thought 
there was something very cruel in confining anything. 
It seemed to be against the law of nature, by which every¬ 
thing hath a right to liberty ; nay, it is even unchristian, 






152 


THE HISTORY OR' 


for it is not doing what we would be done by : but if I had 
imagined Miss Sophia would have been so much concerned 
at it, I am sure I never would have done it ; nay, if I had 
known what would have happened to the bird itself : for 
when Master Jones, who climbed up that tree after it, fell 
into the water, the bird took a second flight, and presently 
a nasty hawk carried it away.” 

Poor Sophia, who now first heard of her little Tommy’s 
fate (for her concern for Jones had prevented her perceiv¬ 
ing it when it happened), shed a shower of tears. These Mr. 
Allworthy endeavored to assuage, promising her a much 
finer bird : but she declared she would never have another. 
Iler father chid her for crying so for a foolish bird, but 
could not help telling young Blifil, if he was a son of his, 
his backside should be well flayed. 

Sophia now returned to her chamber, the two young gen¬ 
tlemen were sent home, and the rest of the company re¬ 
turned to their bottle, where a conversation ensued on the 
subject of the bird, so curious that we think it deserves a 
chapter by itself 


CHAPTER IY. 

CONTAINING SUCH VERY DEEP AND GRAVE MATTERS THAT 
SOME READERS, PERHAPS, MAY NOT RELISH IT. 

Square had no sooner lighted his pipe than, addressing 
himself to Allworthy, he thus began : “ Sir, I cannot help 
congratulating you on your nephew, who, at an age when 
few lads have <yiy ideas but of sensible objects, is arrived at 
a capacity of distinguishing right from wrong. To confine 
anything seems to me against the law of nature, by which 
everything hath a right to liberty. These were his words, 
and the impression they have made on me is never to be 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


153 


eradicated. Can any man have a higher notion of the rule 
of right, and the eternal fitness of things ? I cannot help 
promising myself, from such a dawn, that the meridian of 
this youth will be equal to that of either the elder or the 
younger Brutus.” 

Here Thwackum hastily interrupted, and spilling some of 
his wine, and swallowing the rest with great eagerness, 
answered, 44 From another expression he made use of, I 
hope he will resemble much better men. The law of nature 
is a jargon of words, which means nothing. I know not of 
any such law, nor of any right which can be derived from 
it. To do as we would be done by is indeed a Christian 
motive, as the boy well expressed himself ; and I am glad 
to find my instructions have borne such good fruit.” 

44 If vanity was a thing fit,” says Square, 44 1 might in¬ 
dulge some on the same occasion ; for whence only he can 
have learnt his notions of right or wrong, I think is pretty 
apparent. If there be no law of nature, there is no right 
nor wrong. ’ ’ 

44 How !” says the parson, 44 do you then banish revela¬ 
tion ? Am I talking with a deist or an atheist ?” 

44 Drink about,” says Western. 44 Pox of your laws of 
nature ! I don’t know what you mean, either of you, by 
right and wrong. To take away my girl’s bird was wrong, 
in my opinion, and my neighbor Allworthy may do as he 
pleases ; but to encourage boys in such practices, is to breed 
them up to the gallows. ’ ’ 

Allworthy answered, 44 That he was sorry for what his 
nephew had done, but could not consent to punish him, as 
he acted rather from a generous than unworthy motive.” 
He said, 44 If the boy had stolen the bird, none would have 
been more ready to vote for a severe chastisement than him¬ 
self ; but it was plain that was not his design and, in¬ 
deed, it was as apparent to him, that he could have no other 
view but what he had himself avowed. (For as to that 







154 


THE HISTORY OF 


malicious purpose which Sopilia suspected, it never once en- 
tered into tlie head of Mr. Allworthy.) He at length con* 
eluded with again blaming the action as inconsiderate, and 
which, he said, was pardonable only in a child. 

Square had delivered his opinion so openly that if he 
was now silent, he must submit to have his judgment cen¬ 
sured. He said, therefore, with some warmth, “ That Mr. 
Allworthy had too much respect to the dirty consideration 
of property. That in passing our judgments on great and 
mighty actions, all private regards should be laid aside ; for 
by adhering to those narrow rules, the younger Brutus had 
been condemned of ingratitude, and the elder of parricide. ” 
“ And if they had been hanged, too, for those crimes,” 
cried Thwackum, 6 6 they would have had no more than 
their deserts. A couple of heathenish villains. Heaven 
be praised we have no Brutuses nowadays ! I wish, Mr. 
Square, you would desist from tilling the minds of my 
pupils with such anticliristian stuff ; for the consequence 
must be, while they are under my care, its being well 
scourged out of them again. There is your disciple Tom 
almost spoiled already. I overheard him the other day dis¬ 
puting with Master Blifil that there was no merit in faith 
without works. I know that is one of your tenets, and I 
‘suppose he had it from you.” 

“ Don’t accuse me of spoiling him,” says Square. 
“ Who taught him to laugh at whatever is virtuous and 
decent, and fit and right in the nature of things ? He is 
your own scholar, and I disclaim him. Ho, no, Master Bli¬ 
fil is my boy. Young as he is, that lad’s notions of moral 
rectitude I defy you ever to eradicate. ’ ’ 

Thwackum put on a contemptuous sneer at this, and re¬ 
plied, “ Ay, ay, I will venture him with you. He is too 
well grounded for all your philosophical cant to hurt. No, 
no, 1 have taken care to instil such principles into him- 
“ And I have instilled principles into him too,” 


cries 



155 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


Square. “ What but tlie sublime idea ot virtue could in¬ 
spire a human mind with the generous thought of giving 
liberty ? And I repeat to you again, if it was a lit thing to 
be proud, I might claim the honor of having infused that 
idea.” 

u And if pride was not forbidden,” said Thwackum, u 1 
might boast of having taught him that duty which he hirm 

self assigned as his motive.” 

“ So between you both,” says the squire, “ the young 
gentleman hath been taught to rob my daughter of her bird. 
I find I must take care of my partridge-mew. I shall have 
some virtuous religious man or other set all my partridges 
at liberty.” Then slapping a gentleman of the law, who 
was present, on the back, he cried out, ‘ What say you to 
this, Mr. Counsellor ? Is not this against law ?” 

The lawyer with great gravity delivered himself as fol- 












lows : 

“ If the case be put of a partridge, there can be no doubt 
but an action would lie ; for though this be ferm natural, 
yet being reclaimed, property vests : but being the case of 
a singing bird, though reclaimed, as it is a thing of base 
nature, it must be considered as nullius in Louis. In this 
case, therefore, I conceive the plaintiff must be nonsuited ; 
and I should disadvise the bringing any such action.” 

“ Well,” says the squire, “ if it be null us bonus, let us 
drink about, and talk a little of the state of the nation, or 
/some such discourse that we all understand, for I am sure 
I don’t understand a word of this. It may be learning and 
sense for aught I know : but you shall never persuade me 
into it. Pox ! you have neither of you mentioned a word 
of that poor lad” who deserves to be commended : to ven¬ 
ture breaking his neck to oblige my girl was a generous- 
spirited action : I have learning enough to see that. D—n 
me, here’s Tom’s health! I shall love the boy for it the 
longest day I liave to live.” 








- 

156 THE HISTORY OF 

Thus was the debate interrupted ; but it would probably 
have been soon resumed had not Mr. All worthy presently 
called for his coach, and carried off the two combatants. 

Such was the conclusion of this adventure of the bird, 
and of the dialogue occasioned by it, wdiich we could not 
help recounting to our reader, though it happened some 
years before that stage or jieriod of time at which our his 
tory is now arrived. 

% 

CHAPTER Y. 

CONTAINING MATTER ACCOMMODATED TO EVERY TASTE. 

“ Parva leves capiunt animos—Small things affect light 
minds,” was the sentiment of a great master of the passion 
of love. And certain it is, that from this day Sophia began 
to have some little kindness for Tom Jones, and no little 
aversion for his companion. 

Many accidents from time to time improved both these 
passions in her breast, which, without our recounting, the 
reader may well conclude, from what we have before hinted 
of the different tempers of these lads, and how much the 
one suited with her own inclinations more than the other. 
To say the truth, Sophia, when very young, discerned that 
Tom, though an idle, thoughtless, rattling rascal, was no¬ 
body’s enemy but his own ; and that Master Blifil, though 
a prudent, discreet, sober young gentleman, was at the same 
time strongly attached to the interest only of one single 
person ; and who that single person was the reader will be 
able to divine without any assistance of ours. 

These two characters are not always received in the world 
with the different regard which seems severally due to 
either, and which one would imagine mankind, from self- 
interest, should show towards them. But perhaps there 
may be a political reason for it : in finding one of a truly 




TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


15? 


benevolent disposition, men may very reasonably suppose 
they have found a treasure, and be desirous of keeping it, 
like all other good things, to themselves. Hence they 
may imagine that to trumpet forth the praises of such 
a person would, in the vulgar phrase, be crying Eoast- 
rneat, and calling in partakers of what they intend to 
apply solely to their own use. If this reason does not 
\ satisfy the reader, I know no other means of accounting 
for the little respect which I have commonly seen paid to a 
character which really does great honor to human nature, 
and is productive of the highest good to society. But it 
was otherwise with Sophia. She honored Tom Jones, and 
scorned Master Blifil, almost as soon as she knew the mean¬ 
ing of those two words. 

Sophia had been absent upwards of three years with her 
aunt, during all which time she had seldom seen either of 
these young gentlemen. She dined, however, once, 
together with her aunt, at Mr. Allworthy’s. This was a 
few days after the adventure of the partridge, before com¬ 
memorated. Sophia heard the whole story at table, where 
she said nothing : nor indeed could her aunt get many 
r words from her as she returned home 5 but hei maid, when 
" undressing her, happening to say, 4 "Well, miss, I suppose 
I you have seen young Master Blifil to-day ?” she answered 
f with much passion, “ I hate the name of Master Blifil, as I 
do whatever is base and treacherous : and I wonder Mr. 
i Allworthy would suffer that old barbarous schoolmaster to 
punish a poor boy so cruelly for what was only the effect of 
his good-nature.” She then recounted the story to her 
maid, and concluded with saying, “ Don’t you think he is a 
boy of noble spirit ?” 

This young lady was now returned to her father, who 
crave her the command of his house, and placed her at the 
upper end of his table, where Tom (who for his great love 
of hunting was become a great favorite of the squire) often 









158 


THE HISTORY OF 




dined. Young men of open, generous dispositions are nat 
urally inclined to gallantry, which, if they have good un¬ 
derstandings, as was in reality Tom’s case, exerts itself in 
an obliging complacent behavior to all women in general. 
This greatly distinguished Tom from the boisterous brutal¬ 
ity of mere country squires on the one hand, and from the 
solemn and somewhat sullen deportment of Master Blifil on 
the other ; and he began now, at twenty, to have the name 
of a pretty fellow among all the women in the neighbor¬ 
hood. 

Tom behaved to Sophia with no particularity, unless per¬ 
haps by showing her a higher respect than he paid to any 
other. This distinction her beauty, fortune, sense, and 
amiable carriage, seemed to demand ; but as to design upon 
her person he had none, for which we shall at present suffer 
the reader to condemn him of stupidity ; but perhaps we 
shall be able indifferently well to account for it hereafter. 

Sojxhia, with the highest degree of innocence and mod¬ 
esty, had a remarkable sprightliness in her temper. This 
was so greatly increased whenever she was in company with 
Tom, that had he not been very young and thoughtless, he 
must have observed it ; or had not Mr. Western’s thoughts 
been generally either in the field, the stable, or the dog- 
kennel, it might have perhaps created some jealousy in him : 
but so far was the good gentleman from entertaining any 
such suspicions that he gave Tom every opportunity with 
his daughter which any lover could have wished ; and this 
Tom innocently improved to better advantage by following 
only the dictates of his natural gallantry and good-nature, 
than he might perhaps have done had lie had the deepest 
designs on the young lady. 

But indeed it can occasion little wonder that this matter 
escaped the observation of others, since poor Sophia herself 
never remarked it ; and her heart was irretrievably lost be¬ 
fore she suspected it was in danger. 


TOM JOKES: A FOUNDLIKG. 


159 


Matters were in this situation when Tom, one afternoon, 
rinding Sophia alone, began, after a short apology, with a 
very serious face, to acquaint her that he had a favor to ask 
of her which he hoped her goodness would comply with. 

Though neither the young man’s behavior, nor indeed his 
manner of opening this business, were such as could give 
her any just cause of suspecting he intended to make love 
to her ; yet, whether Nature whispered something into her 
ear, or from what cause it arose, I will not determine ; cer¬ 
tain it is, some idea of that kind must have intruded itself, 
for her color forsook her cheeks, her limbs trembled, and 
her tongue would have faltered had Tom stopped for an 
answer ; but he soon relieved her from her perplexity by 
proceeding to inform her of his request, which was to solicit 
her interest on behalf of the gamekeeper, whose own ruin, 
and that of a large family, must be, he said, the consequence 
of Mr. Western’s pursuing his action against him. 

Sophia presently recovered her confusion, and, with a 
smile full of sweetness, said, u Is this the mighty favor you 
asked with so much gravity ? I will do it with all my 
heart. I really jfity the poor fellow, and no longer ago 
than yesterday sent a small matter to his wife.” This small 
matter was one of her gowns, some linen, and ten shillings 
in money, of which Tom had heard, and it had, in reality, 
put this solicitation into his head. 

Our youth, now, emboldened with his success, resolved to 
push the matter farther, and ventured even to beg her 
recommendation of him to her father’s service, protesting 
that he thought him one of the honestest fellows in the 
country, and extremely well qualified for the place of a 
gamekeeper, which luckily then haj^pened to be vacant. 

Sophia answered, “ Well, I will undertake this too ; but 
I cannot promise you as much success as in the former part, 
which I assure you I will not quit my father without 
obtaining. However, I will do what I can for the poor 







160 


THE HISTORY OF 


fellow, for I sincerely look upon him and his family as ob¬ 
jects of great compassion. And now, Mr. Jones, I mnst 
ask you a favor. ’ ’ 

U A favor, madam!” cries Tom: “ if you knew the 
pleasure you have given me in the hopes of receiving a com¬ 
mand from you, you would think by mentioning it you did 
confer the greatest favor on me, for by this dear hand I 
would sacrifice my life to oblige you.” 

He then snatched her hand, and eagerly kissed it, which 
was the first time his lips had ever touched her. The 
blood, which before had forsaken her cheeks, now made 
her sufficient amends by rushing all over her face and neck 
with such violence that they became all of a scarlet color. 
She now first felt a sensation to which she had been before 
a stranger, and which, when she had leisure to reflect on it, 
began to acquaint her with some secrets, which the reader, 
if he doth not already guess them, will know in due time. 

Sophia, as soon as she could speak (which was not in¬ 
stantly), informed him that the favor she had to desire of 
him was, not to lead her father through so many dangers in 
hunting ; for that, from what she had heard, she was ter¬ 
ribly frightened every time they went out together, and 
expected some day or other to see her father brought home 
with broken limbs. She therefore begged him, for her 
sake, to be more cautious ; and as he well knew Mr. West- 
ern would follow him, not to ride so madly, nor to take 
those dangerous leaps for the future. 

Tom promised faithfully to obey her commands ; and 
after thanking her for her kind compliance with his request, 
took his leave, and departed highly charmed with his suc¬ 
cess. 

Poor Sophia was charmed too, but in a very different 
way. Her sensations, however, the reader’s heart (if he or 
she have any) will better represent than I can, if I had as 
many mouths as ever poet wished for, to eat, I suppose, 



THIS SO PLEASED THE GOOD SQUIRE THAT HE GAVE HIS DAUGHTER A KISS 








































































































































































































































































TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


161 


those many dainties with which he was so plentifully pro¬ 
vided. 

It was Mr. Western’s custom every afternoon, as soon as 
lie was drunk, to hear his daughter play on the harpsichord, 
for he was a great lover of music, and perhaps, had he lived 
in town, might have passed for a connoisseur, for he 
always excepted against the finest compositions of Mr. Han¬ 
del. He never relished any music but what was light and 
airy, and indeed his most favorite tunes were Old Sir 
Simon the King, St. George he was for England, Bobbing 
Joan, and some others. 

His daughter, though she was a perfect mistress of music, 
and would never willingly have played any but Handel’s, 
was so devoted to her father’s pleasure that she learnt all 
those tunes to oblige him. However, she would now and 
then endeavor to lead him into her own taste ; and when 
he required the repetition of his ballads, would answer with 
a “ Nay, dear sir,” and would often beg him to suffer her 
to play something else. 

This evening, however, when the gentleman was retired 
from his bottle, she played all his favorites three times over 
without any solicitation. This so pleased the good squire 
that he started from his couch, gave his daughter a kiss, 
and swore her hand was greatly improved. She took this 
opportunity to execute her promise to Tom, in which she 
succeeded so well that the squire declared, if she would 
give him t’other bout of Old Sir Simon, he would give the 
gamekeeper his dej^utation the next morning. Sir Simon 
was played again and again, till the charms of the music 
soothed Mr. Western to sleep. In the morning Sophia did 
not fail to remind him of his engagement ; and his attorney 
was immediately sent for, ordered to stop any farther pro¬ 
ceedings in the action, and to make out the deputation. 

Tom’s success in this affair soon began to ring over the 
country, and various were the censures passed upon it. 






102 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


some greatly applauding it as an act of good nature ; others 
sneering, and saying, “ No wonder that one idle fellow 
should love another.” Young Blifil was greatly enraged 
at it. He had long hated Black George in the same pro¬ 
portion as Jones delighted in him ; not from any offence 
which he had ever received, but from his great love to re¬ 
ligion and virtue—for Black George had the reputation of 
a loose kind of a fellow. Blifil therefore represented this 
as flying in Mr. Allworthy’s face, and declared, with great 
concern, that it was impossible to find any other motive for 
doing good to such a wretch. 

Thwackum and Square likewise sung to the same tune. 
They were now (especially the latter) become greatly jeal¬ 
ous of young Jones with the widow ; for he now approached 
the age of twenty, was really a line young fellow, and that 
lady, by her encouragements to him, seemed daily more and 
more to think him so. 

Allworthy was not, however, moved with their malice. 
He declared himself very well satisfied with what Jones Jiad 
done. He said the perseverance and integrity of his friend¬ 
ship was highly commendable, and he wished he could see 
more frequent instances of that virtue. 

But Fortune, who seldom greatly relishes such sparks as 
my friend Tom, perhaps because they do not pay more 
ardent addresses to her, gave now a very different turn to all 
his actions, and showed them to Mr. All worthy in a light 
far less agreeable than that gentleman’s goodness had 
hitherto seen them in. 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


163 


CHAPTER YI. 

IN APOLOGY FOR THE INSENSIBILITY OF MR. JONES TO ALL 
THE CHARMS OF THE LOVELY SOPHIA ’ IN WHICH POSSIBLY 
WE MAY, IN A CONSIDERABLE DEGREE, LOWER HIS CHAR¬ 
ACTER IN THE ESTIMATION OF THOSE MEN OF WIT AND 
GALLANTRY WHO APPROVE THE HEROES IN MOST OF OUR 
MODERN COMEDIES. 

There are two sorts of people who, I am afraid, have 
already conceived some contempt for my hero, on account 
of his behavior to Sophia. The former of these will blame 
his prudence in neglecting an opportunity to possess himself 
of Mr. Western’s fortune ; and the latter will no less de¬ 
spise him for his backwardness to so tine a girl, who seemed 
ready to fly into his arms, if he would open them to receive 
her. 

Now, though I shall not perhaps be able absolutely to 
acquit him of either of these charges (for want of prudence 
admits of no excuse ; and what I shall produce against the 
latter charge will, I apprehend, be scarce satisfactory), yet, 
as evidence may sometimes be offered in mitigation, I shall 
set forth the plain matter of fact, and leave the whole to 
the reader’s determination. 

Mr. Jones had somewhat about him which, though I 
think writers are not thoroughly agreed in its name, doth 
certainly inhabit some human breasts ; whose use is not so 
properly to distinguish right from wrong as to prompt and 
incite them to the former, and to restrain and withhold 
them from the latter. 

This somewhat may be indeed resembled to the famous 
trunk-maker in the jdayhouse ; for, whenever the person 
who is possessed of it doth what is right, no ravished or 
friendly spectator is so eager or so loud in his applause : on 








164 


THE HISTORY OF 


the contrary, when he doth wrong, no critic is so apt to 
hiss and explode him. 

To give a higher idea of the principle I mean, as well as 
one more familiar to the present age, it may be considered 
as sitting on its throne in the mind, like the Lord High 
Chancellor of this kingdom in his court, where it presides, 
governs, directs, judges, acquits, and condemns according 
to merit and justice, with a knowledge which nothing 
escapes, a penetration which nothing can deceive, and an 
integrity which nothing can corrupt. 

This active principle may perhaps be said to constitute 
the most essential barrier between us and our neighbors the 
brutes ; for if there be some in the human shape who are 
not under any such dominion, I choose rather to con¬ 
sider them as deserters from us to our neighbors, among 
whom they will have the fate of deserters, and not be 
placed in the first rank. 

Our hero, whether he derived it from Thwackum or 
Square I will not determine, was very strongly under the 
guidance of this principle ; for though he did not always 
act rightly, yet he never did otherwise without feeling and 
suffering for it. It was this which taught him that to repay 
the civilities and little friendships of hospitality by robbing 
the house where you have received them, is to be the basest 
and meanest of thieves. He did not think the baseness of 
this offence lessened by the height of the injury committed ; 
on the contrary, if to steal another’s plate deserved death 
and infamy, it seemed to him difficult to assign a punish¬ 
ment adequate to the robbing a man of his whole fortune, 
and of his child into the bargain. 

This principle, therefore, prevented him from any 
thought of making his fortune by such means (for this, as J 
have said, is an active principle, and doth not content itself 
with knowledge or belief only). Had he been greatly 
enamored of Sophia, he possibly might have thought other- 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


105 


wise ; but give me leave to say, there is great difference be¬ 
tween running away with a man’s daughter from the 
motive of love, and doing the same thing from the motive 
of theft. 

Now, though this young gentleman was not insensible of 
the charms of Sophia ; though he greatly liked her beauty , 
and esteemed all her other qualifications, she had made, 
however, no deep impression on his heart, for which, as it 
renders him liable to the charge of stupidity, or at least of 
want of taste, we shall now proceed to account. 

The truth then is, his heart was in the possession of 
another woman. Here I question not but the reader will 
be surprised at our long taciturnity as to this matter ; and 
quite at a loss to divine who this woman was, since we have 
not hitherto dropped a hint of any one likely to be a rival to 
Sophia ; for as to Mrs. Blifil, though we have been obliged 
to mention some suspicions of her affection for Tom, we 
have not hitherto given the least latitude for imagining that 
lie had any for her ; and, indeed, I am sorry to say it, but 
the youth of both sexes are too apt to be deficient in their 
gratitude for that regard with which persons more advanced 
in years are sometimes so kind to honor them. 

That the reader may be no longer in suspense, he will be 
pleased to remember that we have often mentioned the 
family of George Seagrim (commonly called Black George, 
the gamekeeper), which consisted at present of a wife and 
five children. 

The second of these children was a daughter, whose name 
was Molly, and who was esteemed one of the handsomest 
girls in the whole country. 

Congreve well says there is in true beauty something 
which vulgar souls cannot admire ; so can no dirt or rags 
hide this something from those souls which are not of the 
vulgar stamp. 





1G6 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


The beauty of this girl made, however, no impression on 
Tom till she grew towards the age of sixteen, when Tom, 
who was near three years older, began first to cast the eyes 
of affection upon her. And this affection he had fixed on 
the girl long before he could bring himself to attempt the 
possession of her person : for though his constitution urged 
him greatly to this, his principles no less forcibly restrained 
him. To debauch a young woman, however low her con¬ 
dition was, appeared to him a very heinous crime ; and the 
good-will he bore the father, with the compassion he had 
for his family, very strongly corroborated all such sober 
reflections ; so that he once resolved to get the better of his 
inclinations, and he actually abstained three whole months 
without ever going to Seagrim’s house, or seeing his 
daughter. 

Now, though Molly was, as we have said, generally 
thought a very fine girl, and in reality she was so, yet her 
beauty was not of the most amiable kind. It had, indeed, 
very little of feminine in it, and would have become a man 
at least as well as a woman ; for, to say the truth, youth 
and florid health had a very considerable share in the com¬ 
position. 

Nor was her mind more effeminate than her person. As 
this was tall and robust, so was that bold and forward. 
So little had she of modesty, that Jones had more regard 
for her virtue than she herself. And as most probably she 
liked Tom as well as he liked her, so when she perceived 
his backwardness she herself grew proportionably forward ; 
and when she saw he had entirely deserted the house, she 
found means of throwing herself in his way, and behaved 
in such a manner that the youth must have had very much 
or very little of the hero if her endeavors had proved un¬ 
successful. In a word, she soon triumphed over all the 
virtuous resolutions of Jones ; for though she behaved at 


167 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

last with all decent reluctance, yet I rather choose to attrib- 
• ute the triumph to her, since, in fact, it was her design 
which succeeded. 

In the conduct of this matter, I say, Molly so well played 
her part, that Jones attributed the concpiest entirely to him¬ 
self, and considered the young woman as one who had 
yielded to the violent attacks of his passion. He likewise 
imputed her yielding to the ungovernable force of her love 
towards him ; and this the reader will allow to have been a 
very natural and probable supposition, as we have more 
than once mentioned the uncommon comeliness of his per¬ 
son : and, indeed, he was one of the handsomest young fel¬ 
lows in the world. 

As there are some minds whose affections, like Master 
Blifil’s, are solely jffaced on one single person, whose in¬ 
terest and indulgence alone they consider on every occa¬ 
sion, regarding the good and ill of all others as merely in¬ 
different, any farther than as they contribute to the pleasure 
or advantage of that person, so there is a different temper 
of mind which borrows a degree of virtue even from self- 
love. Such can never receive any kind of satisfaction from 
another, without loving the creature to whom that satisfac¬ 
tion is owing, and without making its well-being in some 
sort necessary to their own ease. 

Of this latter species was our hero. He considered this 
poor girl as one whose happiness or misery he had caused 
to be dependent on himself. Her beauty was still the ob¬ 
ject of desire, though greater beauty, or a fresher object, 
might have been more so ; but the little abatement which 
fruition had occasioned to this was highly overbalanced by 
the considerations of the affection which she visibly bore 
him, and of the situation into which he had brought her. 
The former of these created gratitude, the latter compas¬ 
sion ; and both, together with his desire for her person, 
raised in him a passion which might, without any great vio- 






108 


THE HISTORY OF 


lence to the word, be called love ; though, perhaps, it was 
at first not very judiciously placed. 

This, then, was the true reason of that insensibility which 
he had shown to the charms of Sophia, and that behavior in 
her which might have been reasonably enough interpreted as 
an encouragement to his addresses ; for as he could not think 
of abandoning his Molly, poor and destitute as she was, so no 
more could he entertain a notion of betraying such a creature 
as Sophia. And surely, had he given the least encouragement 
to any passion for that young lady, he must have been ab¬ 
solutely guilty of one or other of those crimes ; either of 
which would, in my opinion, have very jnstly subjected him 
to that fate which, at his first introduction into this history, 
I mentioned to have been generally predicted as his certain 
destiny. 


CHAPTER VII. 

BEING THE SHORTEST CHAPTER IN THIS BOOK. 

Her mother first perceived the alteration in the shape of 
Molly ; and in order to hide it from her neighbors, she 
foolishly clothed her in that sack which Sophia had sent 
her ; though, indeed, that young lady had little apprehen 
sion that the poor woman woidd have been weak enough to 
let any of her daughters wear it in that form. 

Molly was charmed with the first opportunity she ever 
had of showing her beauty to advantage ; for though she 
could very well bear to contemplate herself in the glass, 
even when dressed in rags, and though she had in that 
dress conquered the heart of Jones, and perhaps of some 
others, yet she thought the addition of finery would much 
improve her charms and extend her conquests. 

Molly, therefore, having dressed herself out in this sack, 
with a new laced cap, and some other ornaments which 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


169 


Tom liad given her, repairs to church with her fan in her 
hand the very next Sunday. The great are deceived if they 
imagine they have appropriated ambition and vanity to 
themselves. These noble qualities flourish as notably in a 
country church and churchyard as in the drawing-room or 
in the closet. Schemes have indeed been laid in the vestry 
which would hardly disgrace the conclave. Here is a 
ministry, and here is an opposition. Here are plots and 
circumventions, parties and factions, equal to those which 
are to be found in courts. 

Nor are the women here less practised in the highest 
feminine arts than their fair superiors in quality and for¬ 
tune. Here are prudes and coquettes. Here are dressing 
and ogling, falsehood, envy, malice, scandal ; in short, 
everything which is common to the most splendid assem¬ 
bly or politest circle. Let those of high life, therefore, no 
onger despise the ignorance of their inferiors, nor the vul¬ 
gar any longer rail at the vices of their betters. 

Molly had seated herself some time before she was 
known by her neighbors. And then a whisper ran through 
the whole congregation, “ Who is she V’ but when she was 
discovered, such sneering, giggling, tittering, and laughing 
ensued among the women that Mr. Allworthy was obliged 
to exert his authority to preserve any decency among them. 

CHAPTER YIIT. 

A BATTLE SUNG BY THE MUSE IN THE HOMERICAN STYLE, 

. AND WHICH NONE BUT THE CLASSICAL READER CAN TASTE. 

Mr. Western had an estate in this parish ; and as his 
house stood at little greater distance from this church than 
from his own, he very often came to Divine service here , 
and both he and the charming Sophia happened to be pres- 
ent at this time. 









J 70 


THE firs TOR Y OE 


Sophia was much pleased with the beauty of the girl, 
whom she pitied for her simplicity in having dressed herself 
in that manner, as she saw the envy which it had occasioned 
among her equals. She no sooner came home than she 
sent for the gamekeeper, and ordered him to bring his 
daughter to her, saying she would provide for her in the 
family, and might possibly place the girl about her own 
person when her own maid, who was now going away, 
had left her. 

Poor Seagrim was thunderstruck at this, for he was no 
stranger to the fault in the shape of his daughter. He an¬ 
swered, in a stammering voice, “ That he was afraid Molly 
would be too awkward to wait on her ladyship, as she had 
never been at service.” “ No matter for that,” says So¬ 
phia ; ‘ ‘ she will soon improve. I am pleased with the girl, 
and am resolved to try her. ’ ’ 

Black George now repaired to his wife, on whose pru¬ 
dent counsel he depended to extricate him out of this di¬ 
lemma ; but when he came thither he found his house in 
some confusion. So great envy had this sack occasioned, 
that when Mr. Allworthy and the other gentry were gone 
from church, the rage, which had hitherto been confined, 
burst into an uproar ; and, having vented itself at first in 
opprobrious words, laughs, hisses, and gestures, betook it¬ 
self at last to certain missile weapons ; which, though from 
their plastic nature they threatened neither the loss of life 
nor limb, were, however, sufficiently dreadful to a well- 
dressed lady. Molly had too much spirit to bear this treat¬ 
ment tamely. Having therefore—but hold, as we are diffi¬ 
dent of our own abilities, let us here invite a superior 
power to our assistance. 

Ye Muses, then, whoever ye are, who love to sing battles, 
and principally thou who whilom didst recount the slaughter 
in those fields where Idudibras and Trulla fought, if thou 



THE BATTLE ROYAL IN THE CHURCHYARD 














TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 171 

wert not starved with thy friend Butler, assist me on this 
great occasion. All things are not in the power of all. 

As a vast herd of cows in a rich farmer’s yard, if, while 
they are milked, they hear their calves at a distance, la¬ 
menting the robbery which is then committing, roar and 
bellow, so roared forth the Somersetshire mob an liallaloo, 
made up of almost as many squalls, screams, and other 
different sounds as there were persons or indeed passions 
among them : some were inspired by rage, others alarmed 
by fear, and others had nothing in their heads but the love 
of fun ; but chiefly Envy, the sister of Satan, and his con¬ 
stant companion, rushed among the crowd, and blew up the 
fury of the women, who no sooner came up to Molly than 
they pelted her with dirt and rubbish. 

Molly, having endeavored in vain to make a handsome 
retreat, faced about ; and laying hold of ragged Bess, who 
advanced in the front of the enemy, she at one blow felled 
her to the ground. The whole army of the enemy (though 
near a hundred in number), seeing the fate of their gen¬ 
eral, gave back many paces, and retired behind a new-dug 
grave ; for the churchyard was the field of battle, where 
there was to be a funeral that very evening. Molly pursued 
her victory, and catching up a skull which lay on the side 
of the grave, discharged it with such fury that, having hit 
a tailor on the head, the tw T o skulls sent equally forth a hol¬ 
low sound at their meeting, and the tailor took presently 
measure of his length on the ground, where the skulls lay 
side by side, and it w T as doubtful which was the more valu¬ 
able of the two. Molly then taking a thigh-bone in her 
hand, fell in among the flying ranks, and dealing her blows 
with great liberality on either side, overthrew the carcass of 
many a mighty hero and heroine. 

Recount, O Muse, the names of those wdio fell on this 
fatal day. First, Jemmy Tweedle felt on his hinder head 
the direful bone. Him the pleasant banks of sweetly-wind- 








m 


THE HISTORY OF 


ing Stour had nourished, where he lirst learnt the vocal art, 
with which, wandering up and down at wakes and fairs, he 
cheered the rural nymphs and swains, when upon the green 
they interweaved the sprightly dance, while he himself 
stood fiddling and jumping to his own music. How little 
now avails his fiddle ! He thumps the verdant fioor with his 
carcass. Next, old Ecliepole, the sowgelder, received a 
blow in his forehead from our Amazonian heroine, and im¬ 
mediately fell to the ground. He was a swinging fat fel¬ 
low, and fell with almost as much noise as a house. His 
tobacco-box dropped at the same time from his pocket, 
which Molly took up as lawful spoils. Then Kate of the 
Mill tumbled unfortunately over a tomb-stone, which, catch¬ 
ing hold of her ungartered stocking, inverted the order of 
nature, and gave her heels the superiority to her head. 
Betty Pippin, with young Roger her lover, fell both to the 
ground, where, O perverse fate ! she salutes the earth, and 
he the sky. Tom Freckle, the smith’s son, was the next 
victim to her rage. He was an ingenious workman, and 
made excellent patterns ; nay, the very pattern with which 
he was knocked down was his own workmanship. Had he 
been at that time singing psalms in the church, he would 
have avoided a broken head. Miss Crow, the daughter of 
a farmer ; John Giddish, himself a farmer ; Nan Slouch, 
Esther Codling, Will Spray, Tom Bennet ; the three Misses 
Potter, whose father keeps the sign of the Red Lion ; Better 
Chambermaid, Jack Ostler, and many others of inferior 
note, lay rolling among the graves. 

Not that the strenuous arm of Molly reached all these ; 
for many of them in their flight overthrew each other. 

But now Fortune, fearing she had acted out of character, 
and had inclined too long to the same side, especially as it 
was the right side, hastily turned about : for now Goody 
Brown, whom Zekiel Brown caressed in his arms ; nor he 
alone, but half the parish besides ; so famous was she in the 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


173 


1 fields of Venus, nor indeed less in those of Mars. The 

i # ' 

trophies of both these her husband always bore about on his 
head and face ; for if ever human head did by its horns 
display the amorous glories of a wife, Zekiel’s did ; nor did 
his well-scratched face less denote her talents (or rather tal¬ 
ons) of a different kind. 

No longer bore this Amazon the shameful flight of her 
party. She stopped short, and, calling aloud to all who fled, 
spoke as follows : “ Ye Somersetshire men, or rather ye 
Somersetshire women, are ye not ashamed thus to fly from 
a single woman ? But if no other will oppose her, I my¬ 
self and Joan Top here will have the honor of the victory.” 
Having thus said, she flew at Molly Seagrim, and easily 
wrenched the thigh-bone from her hand, at the same time 
clawing off her cap from her head. Then laying hold of the 
hair of Molly with her left hand, she attacked her so furi¬ 
ously in the face with the right, that the blood soon began 
to trickle from her nose. Molly was not idle all this while. 
She soon removed the clout from the head of Goody 
Brown, and then fastening on her hair with one hand, with 
the other she caused another bloody stream to issue forth 
from the nostrils of the enemy. 

When each of the combatants had borne off sufficient 
spoils of hair from the head of her antagonist, the next 
rage was against the garments. In this attack they exerted 
so much violence that in a very few minutes they were 
both naked to the middle. 

It is lucky for the women that the seat of fisticuff war is 
not the same with them as among men ; but though they 
may seem a little to deviate from their sex when they go 
forth to battle, yet I have observed they never so far for¬ 
get as to assail the bosoms of each other, where a few 
blows would be fatal to most of them. This, I know, some 
derive from their being of a more bloody inclination than 
the males. On which account they apply to the nose, as 






174 


THE HISTORY OF 


to the part whence blood may most easily be drawn ; bnt 
this seems a far-fetched as well as ill-natured supposition. 

Goody Brown had great advantage of Molly in this par¬ 
ticular ; for the former had indeed no breasts, her bosom (if 
it may be so called), as well in color as in many other prop¬ 
erties, exactly resembling an ancient piece of parchment, 
upon which any one might have drummed a considerable 
while without doing her any great damage. 

Molly, beside her present unhappy condition, was differ¬ 
ently formed in those parts, and might, perhaps, have 
tempted the envy of Brown to give her a fatal blow had 
not the lucky arrival of Tom Jones at this instant put an 
immediate end to the bloody scene. 

This accident was luckily owing to Mr. Square ; for he, 
Master Blifil, and Jones had mounted their horses, after 
church, to take the air, and had ridden about a quarter of 
a mile, when Square, changing his mind (not idly, but for 
a reason which we shall unfold as soon as we have leisure), 
desired the young gentlemen to ride with him another way 
than they had at first proposed. This motion being com¬ 
plied with, brought them of necessity back again to the 
churchyard. 

Master Blifil, who rode first, seeing such a mob assem¬ 
bled, and two women in the posture in which we left the 
combatants, stopped his horse to inquire what was the 
matter. A country fellow, scratching his head, answered 
him : “I don’t know, measter, un’t I ; an’t please your 
honor, here hath been a viglit, I think, between Goody 


I 


Brown and Moll Seagrim. ” 

“ Who, who cries Tom ; but without waiting for an 
answer, having discovered the features of his Molly 
through all the discomposure in which they now were, he 
hastily alighted, turned his horse loose, and, leaping over 
• the wall, ran to her. She now, first bursting into tears, 
told him how barbarously she had been treated. Upon 













TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


175 




which, forgetting the sex of Goody Brown, or perhaps not 
knowing it in his rage—for, in reality, she had no feminine 
appearance but a petticoat, which lie might not observe— 
he gave her a lash or two with his horsewhip ; and then 
Hying at the mob, who were all accused by Moll, he dealt 
his blows so profusely on all sides, that unless I would 
again invoke the muse (which the good-natured reader may 
think a little too hard upon her, as she hath so lately been 
violently sweated), it would he impossible for me to re¬ 
count the horse-whipping of that day. 

Having scoured the whole coast of the enemy, as well as 
any of Homer’s heroes ever did, or as Don Quixote or any 
knight-errant in the world could have done, he returned to 
Molly, whom he found in a condition which must give 
both me and my reader pain, was it to he described here. 
Tom raved like a madman, heat his breast, tore his hair, 
stamped on the ground, and vowed the utmost vengeance 
on all who had been concerned. He then pulled off his 
coat, and buttoned it round her, put his hat upon her head, 
wiped the blood from her face as well as he could with his 
handkerchief, and called out to the servant to ride as fast 
as possible for a side-saddle, or a pillion, that he might 
carry her safe home. 

Master Blifil objected to the sending away the servant, 
as they had only one with them ; but as Square seconded 
the order of Jones, he was obliged to comply. 

The servant returned in a very short time with the pil¬ 
lion, and Molly, having collected her rags as w T ell as she 
could, was placed behind him. In which manner she was 
carried home, Square, Blifil, and Jones attending. 

Here Jones having received his coat, given her a sly kiss, 
and whispered her that he would return in the evening, 
quitted his Molly, and rode on after his companions. 








176 


THE HISTORY OF 


CHAPTER IX. 

CONTAINING MATTER OF NO VERY PEACEABLE COLORo 

Molly liad no sooner apparelled herself in her accus¬ 
tomed rags, than her sisters began to fall violently upon 
her, particularly her eldest sister, who told her she was well 
enough served. “ How had she the assurance to wear a 
gown which young Madam Western had given to mother ! 
If one of us was to wear it, I think,” says she, “ I myself 
have the best right ; hut I warrant you think it belongs to 
your beauty. I suppose you think yourself more hand¬ 
some than any of us.” “ Hand her down the bit of glass 
from over the cupboard,” cries another ; 66 I’d wash the 
blood from my face before I talked of my beauty.” 
“ You’d better have minded what the parson says,” cries 
the eldest, u and not a hearkened after men voke. ” “ In¬ 

deed, child, and so she had,” says the mother, sobbing : 
“ she hath brought a disgrace upon us all. She’s the vurst 
of the vamily that ever was a whore.” 

“ You need not upbraid me with that, mother,” cries 
Molly ; “ you yourself was brought to bed of sister there 
within a week after you was married.” 

“ Yes, hussy,” answered the enraged mother, “ so I 
was, and what was the mighty matter of that ? I was 
made an honest woman then ; and if you was to be made 
an honest woman, I should not be angry ; but you must 
have to doing with a gentleman, you nasty slut ; you will 
have a bastard, hussy, you will ; and that I defy any one 
to say of me. ’ ’ 

In this situation Black George found his family when he 
came home for the purpose before mentioned. As his wife 
and three daughters were all of them talking together, 
and most of them crying, it was some time before he could 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


177 


get an opportunity of being heard ; but as soon as sueli an 
interval occurred, lie acquainted the company with what 
Sophia had said to him. 

Goody Seagrim then began to revile her daughter afresh. 
“ Here,” says she, u you have brought us into a fine quan¬ 
dary indeed. What will madam say to that big belly ? 
Oh, that ever I should live to see this day !” 

Molly answered with great spirit, “ And what is this 
mighty place you have got for me, father?” (for he had 
not well understoood the phrase used by Sophia of being 
about her person). “ I suppose it is to be under the cook ; 
but I shan’t wash dishes for anybody. My gentleman will 
provide better for me. See what he hath given me this 
afternoon. He hath promised I shall never want money ; 
and you shan’t want money neither, mother, if you will 
hold your tongue, and know when you are well.” And so 
saying, she pulled out several guineas, and gave her mother 
one of them. 

The good woman no sooner felt the gold within her 
palm than her temper began (such is the efficacy of that 
panacea) to be mollified. “ Why, husband,” says she, 
“ would any but such a blockhead as you not have in¬ 
quired what place this was before he had accepted it. Per¬ 
haps, as Molly says, it may be in the kitchen ; and truly 
I don’t care my daughter should be a scullion wencli ; for, 
poor as I am, I am a gentlewoman. And thof I was 
obliged, as my father, who was a clergyman, died worse 
than nothing, and so could not give me a shilling of potion, 
to undervalue myself by marrying a poor man, yet I 
would have you to know I have a spirit above all them 
things. Marry come up ! it would better become Madam 
Western to look at home, and remember who her own 
grandfather was. Some of my family, for aught I know, 
might ride in their coaches, when the grandfathers of some 
voke walked a-voot. I warrant she fancies she did a mighty 







178 


THE HISTORY OF 


matter when she sent ns that old gown ; some of my fam¬ 
ily wonld not have picked np snch rags in the street ; 
but poor people are always trampled upon. The parish 
need not have been in such a fluster with Molly. You 
might have told them, child, your grandmother wore bet¬ 
ter things new out of the shop. ’ ’ 

“ Well, but consider,” cried George, “ what answer 
shall I make to madam ?” 

“ I don’t know what answer,” says she ; “ you are al¬ 
ways bringing your family into one quandary or other, 
Do you remember when you shot the partridge, the occa¬ 
sion of all our misfortunes ? Did not I advise you never to 
go into Squire Western’s manor ? Did not I tell you many 
a good year ago what would come of it ? But you would 
have your own headstrong ways ; yes, you would, you 
villain.” 

Black George was, in the main, a peaceable kind of fel¬ 
low, and nothing choleric nor rash ; yet did he bear about 
him something of what the ancients called the irascible, 
and which his wife, if she had been endowed with much 
wisdom, would have feared. He had long experienced 
that when the storm grew very high, arguments were but 
wind, which served rather to increase than to abate it. 
He was therefore seldom unprovided with a small switch, 
a remedy of wonderful force, as he had often essayed, and 
which the word villain served as a hint for his applying. 

Ho sooner, therefore, had this symptom appeared, than 
he had immediate recourse to the said remedy, which 
though, as it is usual in all very efficacious medicines, it at 
flrst seemed to heighten and inflame the disease, soon pro¬ 
duced a total calm, and restored the patient to perfect ease 
and tranquillity. 

This is, however, a kind of horse-medicine, which re¬ 
quires a very robust constitution to digest, and is therefore 
proper only for the vulgar, unless in one single instance, 


179 


TOM JOKES: A FOUNDLING. 

viz., where superiority of birth breaks out ; in which case, 
we should not think it very improperly applied by any hus¬ 
band whatever, if the application was not in itself so base 
that, like certain applications of the physical kind which 
need not be mentioned, it so much degrades and contami¬ 
nates the hand employed in it, that no gentleman should 
endure the thought of anything so low and detestable. 

The whole family were soon reduced to a state of perfect 
quiet ; for the virtue of this medicine, like that of elec¬ 
tricity, is often communciated through one person to many 
others who are not touched by the instrument. To say 
the truth, as they both operate by friction, it may be 
doubted whether there is not something analogous between 
them, of which Mr. Freke would do well to inquire be^ 
fore he publishes the next edition of his book. 

A council was now called, in which, after many debates, 
Molly still persisting that she would not go to service, it 
was at length resolved that Goody Seagrim herself should 
wait on Miss Western, and endeavor to procure the place 
for her eldest daughter, who declared great readiness to ac¬ 
cept it : but Fortune, who seems to have been an enemy 
of this little family, afterwards put a stop to her promo¬ 
tion. 


CHAPTER X. 

A STORY TOLD BY MR. SUPPLE, THE CURATE. THE PENETRA¬ 
TION OF SQUIRE WESTERN. HIS GREAT LOVE FOR HIS 
DAUGHTER, AND THE RETURN TO IT MADE BY HER. 

The next morning Tom Jones hunted with Mr. Western, 
and was at his return invited by that gentleman to dinner. 

The lovely Sophia shone forth that day with more gayety 
and sprightliness than usual. Her battery was certainly 
levelled at our hero ; though, I believe, she herself scarce 








180 


THE HISTORY OF 


yet knew lier own intention ; bnt if she had any design of 
charming him, she now succeeded. 

Mr. Supple, the curate of Mr. Allworthy’s parish, made 
one of the company. He was a good-natured, worthy man ; 
but chiefly remarkable for his great taciturnity at table, 
though his mouth was never shut at it. In short, he had 
one of the best appetites in the world. However, the cloth 
was no sooner taken away than he always made sufficient 
amends for his silence : for he Avas a very hearty fellow, and 
his conversation was often entertaining, never offensive. 

At his first arrival, which was immediately before the 
entrance of the roast beef, he had given an intimation that 
he had brought some news with him, and was beginning 
to tell that he came that moment from Mr. Allworthy’s, 
when the sight of the roast beef struck him dumb, permit¬ 
ting him only to say grace, and to declare he must pay his 
respect to the baronet, for so he called the sirloin. 

When dinner was over, being reminded by Sophia of his 
neAvs, he began as follows : “ I believe, lady, your ladyship 
observed a young woman at church yesterday at even-song, 
Avho was dressed in one of your outlandish garments ; I 
think I have seen your ladyship in such a one. However, 
in the country, such dresses are 

Rara ads in terris, nigroque simillima, cygno. 

That is, madam, as much as to say, £ A rare bird upon the 
earth, and very like a black swan.’ The verse is in 
Juvenal. But to return to what I was relating. I was say¬ 
ing such garments are rare sights in the country ; and per¬ 
chance, too, it was thought the more rare, respect being 
had to the person who wore it, who, they tell me, is the 
daughter of Black George, your worship’s gamekeeper, 
whose sufferings, I should have opined, might have taught 
him more wit than to dress forth his wenches in such £audy 
apparel. She created so much confusion in the congrega* 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


181 


tion that, if Squire Allworthy had not silenced it, it would 
have interrupted the service : for I was once about to stop 
in the middle of the first lesson. Idowbeit, nevertheless, 
after prayer was over, and I was departed home, this occa¬ 
sioned a battle in the churchyard, where, amongst other mis¬ 
chief, the head of a travelling fiddler was very much 
broken. This morning the fiddler came to Squire All¬ 
worthy for a warrant, and the wench was brought before 
him. The squire was inclined to have compounded mat¬ 
ters ; when, lo ! on a sudden the wench appeared (I ask 
your ladyship’s pardon) to be, as it were, at the eve of 
bringing forth a bastard. The squire demanded of her who 
was the father ? But she pertinaciously refused to make 
any response. So that he was about to make her mittimus 
to Bridewell when I departed.” 

“ And is a wench having a bastard all your news, doctor ?” 
cries Western ; “I thought it might have been some pub¬ 
lic matter, something about the nation. ’ ’ 

“ I am afraid it is too common, indeed,” answered the 
parson ; “ but I thought the whole story altogether deserved 
commemorating. As to national matters, your worship 
knows them best. My concerns extend no farther than my 
own parish. ’ ’ 

“ Why, ay,” says the squire' “ I believe I do know 
a little of that matter, as you say. But, come, Tommy, 
drink about ; the bottle stands with you.” 

Tom begged to be excused, for that he had particular 
business ; and getting up from table, escaped the clutches 
of the squire, who was rising to stop him, and went off with 
very little ceremony. 

The squire gave him a good curse at his departure ; and 
then turning to the parson, he cried out, u I smoke it : I 
smoke it. Tom is certainly the father of this bastard. 
Zooks, parson, you remember how he recommended the 
veather o’ her to me. D—n un, what a sly b—ch ’tie 






182 


THE HISTORY OF 


Ay, ay, as sure as two-pence, Tom is the veather of the 
bastard.” 

‘ ‘ I should be very sorry for that, ’ ’ says the parson. 

“ Why sorry,” cries the squire : “ Where is the mighty 
matter o’t ? What, I suppose dost pretend that thee hast 
never got a bastard ? Pox ! more good luck’s thine ? for 1 
warrant hast a done a therefore many’s the good time and 
often. ’ ’ 

“ Your worship is pleased to be jocular,” answered the 
parson ; “ but I do not only animadvert on the sinfulness 
of the action—though that surely is to be greatly deprecated 
—but I fear his unrighteousness may injure him with Mr. 
Allworthy. And truly I must say, though he hath the 
character of being a little wild, I never saw any harm in the 
young man ; nor can I say I have heard any, save what 
your worship now mentions. I wish, indeed, he was a little 
more regular in his responses at church * but altogether he 
seems 


Ingenui vultus puer ingenuique pudoria t 

That is a classical line, young lady ; and, being rendered 
into English, is ‘ A lad of ingenuous countenance, and of an 
ingenuous modesty ; ’ for this was a virtue in great repute 
both among the Latins and Greeks. I must say, the young 
gentleman (for so I think I may call him notwithstanding 
his birth) appears to me a very modest, civil lad, and I 
should be sorry that he should do himself any injury in 
Squire Allworthy’s opinion.” 

“ Pooh !” says the squire ; “ Injury, with All worthy ! 
Why Ail worthy loves a wench himself. Doth not all the 
country know whose son Tom is ? You must talk to an¬ 
other person in that manner. I remember Allworthy at 
college. ’ ’ 

“ I thought,” said the parson, “lie had never been at 
the university.” 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


183 


) 




“Yes, yes, he was,” says the squire: “ and many a 
wench have we two had together. As arrant a wliore-master 
as any within five miles o’un. No, no. It will do’n no 
harm with he, assure yourself ; nor with anybody else. 
Ask Sophy there—You have not the worse opinion of a 
young fellow for getting a bastard, have you, girl ? No, 
no, the women will like un the better for’t. ” 

This was a cruel question to poor Sophia. She had 
observed Tom’s color change at the parson’s story ; and 
that, with his hasty and abrupt departure, gave her suf¬ 
ficient reason to think her father’s suspicion not ground¬ 
less. Her heart now at once discovered the great secret 
to her which it had been so long disclosing by little and 
little ; and she found herself highly interested in this mat¬ 
ter. In such a situation, her father’s malapert question, 
rushing suddenly upon her, produced some symptoms which 
might have alarmed a suspicious heart ; hut, to do the squire 
justice, that was not his fault. When she rose therefore 
from her chair, and told him a hint from him was always 
sufficient to make her withdraw, he suffered her to leave the 
room, and then, with great gravity of countenance, re¬ 
marked ‘ ‘ That it was better to see a daughter over-modest 
than over-forward a sentiment which was highly ap¬ 
plauded by the parson. 

There now ensued between the squire and the parson a 
most excellent political discourse, framed out of newspapers 
and political pamphlets, in which they made a libation of 
four bottles of wine to the good of their country ; and then, 
the squire being fast asleep, the parson lighted his pipe, 
mounted his horse, and rode home. 

When the squire had finished his half-hour’s nap, he sum¬ 
moned his daughter to her harpsichord ; hut she begged to 
he excused that evening, on account of a violent headache. 
This remission was presently granted ; for indeed she seldom 
had occasion to ask him twice, as he loved her with such 











184 


TIIE HISTORY OF 


ardent affection that, by gratifying her, lie commonly con¬ 
veyed the highest gratification to himself. She was really, 
what he frequently called her, his little darling, and she 
well deserved to be so, for she returned all his affection in 
the most ample manner. She had preserved the most in¬ 
violable duty to him in all things ; and this her love made 
not only easy, but so delightful, that when one of her com¬ 
panions laughed at her for placing so much merit in such 
scrupulous obedience, as that young lady called it, Sophia 
answered, “ You mistake me, madam, if you think I value 
myself upon this account ; for besides that I am barely dis¬ 
charging my duty, I am likewise pleasing myself. I can 
truly say I have no delight equal to that of contributing to 
my father’s happiness ; and if I value myself, my dear, it is 
on having this power, and not on executing it.” 

This was a satisfaction, however, which poor Sophia was 
incapable of tasting this evening. She therefore not only 
desired to be excused from her attendance at the harpsi¬ 
chord, but likewise begged that he would suffer her to ab¬ 
sent herself from supper. To this request likewise the squire 
agreed, though not without some reluctance, for he scarce 
ever permitted her to be out of his sight, unless when he 
was engaged with his horses, dogs, or bottle. Nevertheless 
he yielded to the desire of his daughter, though the poor 
man was at the same time obliged to avoid his own com¬ 
pany (if I may so express myself) by sending for a neigh¬ 
boring farmer to sit with him. 


TOM JON EH: A FOUNDLING. 


185 


CHAPTEE XI. 

THE NARROW ESCAPE OF MOLLY SEAGRIM, WITH SOME OB- 

SERVATIONS FOR WHICH WE HAVE BEEN FORCED TO DIVE 

PRETTY DEEP INTO NATURE. 

Tom Jones had ridden one of Mr. Western’s horses that 
morning in the chase ; so that having no horse of his own in 
the squire’s stable, lie was obliged to go home on foot : this 
he did so expeditiously that he ran upwards of three miles 
within the half-hour. 

Just as he arrived at Mr. Allworthy’s outward gate, he 
met the constable and company wdtli Molly in their posses¬ 
sion, whom they were conducting to that house where the 
inferior sort of people may learn one good lesson, viz., re¬ 
spect and deference to their superiors ; since it must show 
them the wide distinction Fortune intends between those 
persons who are to be corrected for their faults, and those 
who are not ; which lesson, if they do not learn, I am afraid 
they very rarely learn any other good lesson, or improve 
their morals, at the house of correction. 

A lawyer may perhaps think Mr. Allwortliy exceeded his 
authority a little in this instance. And, to say the truth, I 
question, as here was no regular information before -him, 
whether his conduct w r as strictly regular. However, as his 
intention was truly upright, he ought to be excused in foro 
conscientiwj since so many arbitrary acts are daily com¬ 
mitted by magistrates who have not this excuse to plead for 
themselves. 

Tom was no sooner informed by the constable whither 
they were proceeding (indeed he jwetty well guessed it of 
himself) than lie caught Molly in his arms, and embracing 
her tenderly before them all, swore he would murder the 
first man who offered to lay hold of her. He bid her dry 









18 G 


THE HISTORY OF 


her eyes and be comforted ; for, wherever she went, he 
would accompany her. Then turning to the constable, who 
stood trembling with his hat off, he desired him, in a very 
mild voice, to return with him for a moment only to his 
father (for so he now called Allworthy) ; for he durst, he 
said, be assured that, when he had alleged what he had to 
say in her favor, the girl would be discharged. 

The constable, who, I make no doubt, would have sur¬ 
rendered his prisoner had Tom demanded her, very readily 
consented to this request. So back they all went into Mi*. 
Allworthy’s hall, where Tom desired them to stay till his 
return, and then went himself in pursuit of the good man. 
As soon as he was found, Tom threw himself at his feet, 
and having begged a patient hearing, confessed himself to 
be the father of the child of which Molly was then big. 
He entreated him to have compassion on the poor girl, and 
to consider, if there w^as any guilt in the case, it lay princi¬ 
pally at his door. 

u If there is any guilt in the case !” answered All worthy 
warmly : “ Are you then so profligate and abandoned a 
libertine to doubt whether the breaking the laws of God and 
man, the corrupting and ruining a poor girl, be guilt? 

I own, indeed, it doth lie principally upon you ; and so 
heavy is it, that you ought to expect it should crush you. ’ ’ 

“ Whatever may be my fate,” says Tom, “ let me suc¬ 
ceed in my intercessions for the poor girl. “ I confess I 
have corrupted her ! but whether she shall be ruined, de¬ 
pends on you. For heaven’s sake, sir, revoke your war¬ 
rant, and do not send her to a place which must unavoidably 
prove her destruction.” 

Allworthy bid him immediately call a servant. Tom an- ■ 
swered there was no occasion, for he had luckily met them 
at the gate, and relying upon his goodness, had brought 
them all back into his hall, where they now waited his final 

resolution, which upon his knees he besought him might be 

■ 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


187 


in favor of the girl ; that she might be permitted to go 
home to her parents, and not be exposed to a greater degree 
of shame and scorn than must necessarily fall upon her 
“ I know,” said he, “ that is too much. I know I am the 
wicked occasion of it. I will endeavor to make amends, if 
possible ; and if you shall have hereafter the goodness to 
forgive me, I hope I shall deserve it.” 

Allworthy hesitated some time, and at last said, u Well, 
I will discharge my mittimus. You may send the constable 
tome.” He was instantly called, discharged, and so was 
the girl. 

It will be believed that Mr. Allworthy failed not to read 
Tom a very severe lecture on this occasion ; hut it is un¬ 
necessary to insert it here, as we have faithfully transcribed 
what he said to Jenny Jones in the first hook, most of which 
may be applied to the men, equally with the women. So 
sensible an effect had these reproofs on the young man, 
who was no hardened sinner, that he retired to his own 
room, where he passed the evening alone, in much melan¬ 
choly contemplation. 

All worthy was sufficiently offended by this transgression 
of Jones ; for notwithstanding the assertions of Mr. West¬ 
ern, it is certain this worthy man had never indulged him¬ 
self in any loose pleasures with women, and greatly con¬ 
demned the vice of incontinence in others. Indeed, there 
is much reason to imagine that there was not the least truth 
in what Mr. Western affirmed, especially as he laid the 
scene of those impurities at the university, where Mr. 
Allworthy had never been. In fact, the good squire was a 
little too apt to indulge that kind of pleasantry which is 
generally called rhodomontade : but which may, with as 
much propriety, be expressed by a much shorter word ; and 
perhaps we too often supply the use of this little monosyl¬ 
lable by others, since very much of what frequently passes 
in the world for wit and humor, should, in the strictest 





188 


TIIE HISTORY OF 


purity of language, receive that short appellation which, 
in conformity to the well-bred laws of custom, I here sup¬ 
press. 

But whatever detestation Mr. Allworthy had to this or to 
any other vice, he was not so blinded by it but that he could 
discern any virtue in the guilty person, as clearly indeed as 
if there had been no mixture of vice in the same character. 
While he was angry, therefore, with the incontinence of 
Jones, he was no less pleased with the honor and honesty 
of his self-accusation. lie began now to form in his mind 
the same opinion of this young fellow which, we hope, our 
reader may have conceived. And'in balancing his faults 
with his perfections, the latter seemed rather to preponder¬ 
ate. 

It was to no purpose, therefore, that Thwackum, who 
was immediately charged by Mr. Blifil with the story, un¬ 
bended all his rancor against poor Tom. A11 worthy gave a 
patient hearing to their invectives, and then answered cold¬ 
ly : “ That young men of Tom’s complexion were too gen¬ 
erally addicted to this vice ; but he believed that youth was 
sincerely affected with what he had said to him on the occa¬ 
sion, and he hoped he would not transgress again.” So 
that, as the days of whipping were at an end, the tutor had 
no otliei vent but Ids own mouth for his gall, the usual 
poor resource of impotent revenge. 

But Square, who was a less violent, was a much more art¬ 
ful, man; and as he hated Jones more perhaps than 
Thwackum himself did, so he contrived to do him more 
mischief in the mind of Mr. Allworthy. 

The reader must remember the several little incidents of 
the parti idge, the horse, and the Bible, which were re¬ 
counted in the second book. By all which Jones had rather 
improved than injured the affection which Mr. Allworthy 
was inclined to entertain for him. The same, I believe 
must have happened to him with every other person who 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


189 


hath any idea of friendship, generosity, and greatness of 
spirit, that is to say, who hath any traces of goodness in his 
mind. 

Square himself was not unacquainted with the true im¬ 
pression which those several instances of goodness had made 
on the excellent heart of Mr. Allworthy ; for the philoso¬ 
pher very well knew what virtue was, though he was not 
always perhaps steady in its pursuit ; but as for Thwackum, 
from what reason I will not determine, no such thoughts 
ever entered into his head : he saw J ones in a bad light, and 
he imagined Allworthy saw him in the same, but that he 
was resolved, from pride and stubbornness of spirit, not to 
give up the boy whom he had once cherished ; since by so 
doing he must tacitly acknowledge that his former opinion 
of lii m had been wrong. 

Square therefore embraced this opportunity of injuring 
Jones in the tenderest part by giving a very bad turn to all 
these before-mentioned occurrences. “ I am sorry, sir,” 
said he, “ to own I have been deceived as well as yourself. 
I could not, I confess, help being pleased with what I 
ascribed to the motive of friendship, though it was carried 
to an excess, and all excess is faulty and vicious : but in this 
I made allowance for you. Little did I suspect that the 
sacrifice of truth, which we both imagined to have been 
made to friendship, was in reality a prostitution of it to a 
depraved and debauched appetite. You now plainly see 
whence all the seeming generosity of this young man to the 
family of the gamekeeper proceeded. He supported the 
father in order to corrupt the daughter, and preserved the 
family from starving, to bring one of them to shame and 
ruin. This is friendship ! this is generosity ! As Sir Hicli- 
ard Steele say, ‘ Gluttons who give high prices for delica¬ 
cies are very worthy to be called generous. ’ In short, I 
am resolved, from this instance, never to give way to the 
weakness of human nature more, nor to think anything 






190 THE HISTORY OF 

virtue which doth not exactly quadrate with the unerring 
rule of right.” 

The goodness of Allworthy had prevented these consider¬ 
ations from occurring to himself ; yet were they too plaus¬ 
ible to be absolutely and hastily rejected, when laid before 
his eyes by another. Indeed what Square had said sunk 
very deeply into his mind, and the uneasiness which it there 
created was very visible to the other ; though the good man 
would not acknowledge this, but made a very slight answer, 
and forcibly drove off the discourse to some other subject. 
It was well perhaps for poor Tom that no such suggestions 
had been made before he was pardoned, for they certainly 
stamped on the mind of Allworthy the first bad impression 
concerning Jones. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CONTAINING MUCH CLEARER MATTERS ; BUT WHICH FLOWED 
FROM THE SAME FOUNTAIN WITH THOSE IN THE PRECED¬ 
ING CHAPTER. 

The reader will be pleased, I believe, to return with me 
to Sophia. She passed the night, after we saw her last, in 
no very agreeable manner. Sleep befriended her but little, 
and dreams less. In the morning, when Mrs. Honour, her 
maid, attended her at the usual hour, she was found already 
up and dressed. 

Persons who live two or three miles’ distance m the coun¬ 
try are considered as next-door neighbors, and transactions 
at the one house fly with incredible celerity to the other. 
Mrs. Honour, therefore, had heard the whole story of Molly’s 
shame, which she, being of a very communicative temper, 
had no sooner entered the apartment of her mistress than 
she began to relate in the following manner : 


TOM .TONES: A FOUNDLING. 191 



! 




u La, ma’am, what doth you la’ship think ? the girl that 
your la’ship saw at church on Sunday, whom you thought 
so handsome ; though you would not have thought her so 
handsome neither, if you had seen her nearer, but to be sure 
she hath been carried before the justice for being big with 
child. She seemed to me to look like a confident slut : and 
to be sure she hath laid the child to young Mr. Jones. 
And all the parish says Mr. Allworthy is so angry with 
young Mr. Jones that he won’t see him. To be sure, one 
can’t help pitying the poor young man, and yet he doth not 
deserve much pity neither for demeaning himself with 
such kind of trumpery. Yet he is so pretty a gentleman 
I should be sorry to have him turned out of doors. I dares 
to swear the wench was as willing as he ; for she was always 
a forward kind of body. And when wenches are so com¬ 
ing, young men are not so much to be blamed neither ; for 
to be sure they do no more than what is natural. Indeed it 
is beneath them to meddle with such dirty draggle-tails ; 
and whatever happens to them, it is good enough for them. 
And yet, to he sure, the vile baggages are most in fault. I 
wishes, with all my heart, they were well to be whipped at 
the cart’s tail ; for it is pity they should be the ruin of a 
pretty young gentleman ; and nobody can deny but that 
Mr. Jones is one of the most handsomest young men that 


ever 


She was running on thus, when Sophia, with a more peev¬ 
ish voice than she had ever spoken to her in before, cried 
“ Prithee, why dost thou trouble me with all this stuff ? 
What concern have I in what Mr. Jones doth ? I suppose 
you are all alike. And you seem to me to be angry it was 
not your own case. ’ ’ 

“ I, ma’am !” answered Mrs. Honour, “ I am sorry your 
ladyship should have such an opinion of me. I am sure 
nobody can say any such thing of me. All the young fel¬ 
lows in the world may go to the divil for me. Because J 










192 


THE HISTORY OF 


said he was a handsome man ? Everybody says it as well 
as I. To be sure, I never thought as it was any harm to 
say a young man wa,s handsome ; but to be sure I shall 
never think him so any more now ; for handsome is that 
handsome does. A beggar wench !-” 

“ Stop thy torrent of impertinence,” cries Sophia, “ and 
see whether my father wants me at breakfast.” 

Mrs. Honour then flung out of the room, muttering much 
to herself, of which “ Marry come up, I assure you,” was 
all that could be plainly distinguished. 

Whether Mrs. Honour really deserved that suspicion of 
which her mistress gave her a hint is a matter which we 
cannot indulge our reader’s curiosity by resolving. We 
will, however, make him amends in disclosing what passed 
in the mind of Sophia. 

The reader will be pleased to recollect that a secret affec¬ 
tion for Mr. Jones had insensibly stolen into the bosom of 
this young lady ; that it had there grown to a pretty great 
height before she herself had discovered it. When she first 

O 

began to perceive its symptoms, the sensations were so 
sweet and pleasing that she had not resolution sufficient to 
check or repel them ; and thus she went on cherishing a 
passion of which she never once considered the conse¬ 
quences. 

This incident relating to Molly first opened her eyes. 
She now first perceived the weakness of which she had been 
guilty ; and though it caused the utmost perturbation in 
her mind, yet it had the effect of other nauseous physic, and 
for the time expelled her distemper. Its operation indeed 
was most wonderfully quick, and in the short interval, 
while her maid was absent, so entirely removed all symp¬ 
toms, that when Mrs. Honour returned with a summons from 
her father, she was become perfectly easy, and had brought 
herself to a thorough indifference for Mr. Jones. 

The diseases of the mind do in almost every particular 



193 


I 

TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

\ imitate tliose of the body. For which reason, we hope, 
/ learned faculty, for whom we have so profound a re¬ 
spect, will pardon us the violent hands we have been neces¬ 
sitated to lay on several words and phrases, which of right 
belong to them, and without which our descriptions must 
have been often unintelligible. 

Now there is no one circumstance in which the distempers 
of the mind bear a more exact analogy to tliose which are 
called bodily, than that aptness which both have to a re¬ 
lapse. This is plain in the violent diseases of ambition and 
avarice. I have known ambition, when cured at court by 
frequent disappointments (which are the only physic for it), 
to break out again in a contest for foreman of the grand 
jury at an assizes ; and have heard of a man who had so far 
conquered avarice as to give away many a sixpence, that 
i comforted himself, at last, on his death-bed, by making a 
crafty and advantageous bargain concerning his ensuing 
funeral with an undertaker who had married his only child. 

In the affair of love which, out of strict conformity with 
the Stoic philosophy, we shall here treat as a disease, this 
proneness to relapse is no less conspicuous. Thus it hap- 
' pened to poor Sophia, upon whom, the very next time she 
saw young Jones, all the former symptoms returned, and 
from that time cold and hot fits alternately seized her heart. 

The situation of this young lady was now very different 
from what it had ever been before. That passion which 
had formerly been so exquisitely delicious became now a 
| scorpion in her bosom. She resisted it, therefore, with her 
utmost force, and summoned every argument her reason 
I (which was surprisingly strong for her age) could suggest 
to subdue and expel it. In this she so far succeeded that 
she began to hope from time and absence a perfect cure. 
She resolved, therefore, to avoid Tom Jones as much as 
possible, for which purpose she began to conceive a design 










194 


THE HISTORY OF 


of visiting tier aunt, to wliicli slie made no doubt of obtain 
ing her father’s consent. 

But Fortune, who had other designs in her head, put an 
immediate stop to any such proceeding by introducing an 
accident which will be related in the next chapter 




CHAPTER XIII. 


A DREADFUL ACCIDENT WHICH BEFELL SOPHIA. THE GALLANT 
BEHAVIOR OF JONES, AND THE MORE DREADFUL CONSE¬ 
QUENCE OF THAT BEHAVIOR TO THE YOUNG LADY ; WITH 
A SHORT DIGRESSION IN FAVOR OF THE FEMALE SEX. 

Mr. Western grew every day fonder and fonder of 
Sophia, insomuch that his beloved dogs themselves almost 
gave place to her in his affections ; but as he could not 
prevail on himself to abandon these, he contrived very cun¬ 
ningly to enjoy their company, together with that of his 
daughter, by insisting on her riding a hunting with him. 

Sophia, to whom her father’s word was a law, readily com¬ 
plied with his desires, though she had not the least delight 
in a sport which was of too rough and masculine a nature 
to suit with her disposition. She had, however, anotliei 
motive, beside her obedience, to accompany the old gentle¬ 
man in the chase ; for by her presence she hoped in some 
measure to restrain his impetuosity, and to prevent him from 
so frequently exposing his neck to the utmost hazard. 

The strongest objection was that which would have 
formerly been an inducement to her, namely, the frequent 
meeting with young Jones, whom she had determined to 
avoid ; but as the end of the hunting season now approached, 
she hoped, by a short absence with her aunt, to reason her¬ 
self entirely out of her unfortunate passion ; and had not any 
doubt of being able to meet him in the field the subsequent 
season without the least danger. 










TOM JONES: A FOUND LINO. 


195 


On the second day of her hunting, as she was returning 
' from the chase, and was arrived within a little distance from 
Mr. Western’s house, her horse, whose mettlesome spirit re¬ 
quired a better rider, fell suddenly to prancing and capering 
in such a manner that she was in the most imminent peril of 
falling. Tom Jones, who was at a little distance behind, saw 
this, and immediately galloped up to her assistance. As soon 
as he came up, he leaped from his own horse, and caught 
hold of hers by the bridle. The unruly beast presently reared 
himself on end on his hind legs, and threw his lovely bur¬ 
den from his back, and Jones caught her in his arms. 

She was so affected with the fright that she was not im¬ 
mediately able to satisfy Jones, who was very solicitous to 
know whether she had received any hurt. She soon after, 
however, recovered her spirits, assured him she was safe, 
and thanked him for the care he had taken of her. Jones 
answered, “If I have preserved you, madam, I am 
sufficiently rejDaid ; for I promise you I would have secured 
you from the least harm at the expense of a much greater 
misfortune to myself than I have suffered on this occasion.” 

“ What misfortune ?” replied Sophia, eagerly : “I hope 
you have come to no mischief ?” 

‘ ‘ Be not concerned, madam, ’ ’ answered Jones. ‘ ‘ Heaven 
be praised you have escaped so well, considering the danger 
you was in. If I have broke my arm, I consider it as a 
trifle, in comparison of what I feared upon your account.” 

Sophia then screamed out, “ Broke your arm ! Heaven 
forbid.” 

“ I am afraid I have, madam,” says Jones : “ but I beg 
you will suffer me first to take care of you. I have a right 
hand yet at your service, to help you into the next field, 
whence we have but a very little walk to your father’s 
house. ’ ’ 

Sophia seeing his left arm dangling by his side, while he 
was using the other to lead her, no longer doubted of the 








196 


THE HISTORY OF 


truth. She now grew much paler than her fears for her* 
self had made her before. All her limbs were seized with 
a trembling, insomuch that Jones could scarce support her ; 
and as her thoughts were in no less agitation, she could not 
refrain from giving Jones a look so full of tenderness that 
it almost argued a stronger sensation in her mind than even 
gratitude and pity united can raise in the gentlest female 
bosom, without the assistance of a third more powerful 
passion. 

Mr. Western, who was advanced at some distance when 
this accident happened, was now returned, as were the rest 
of the horsemen. Sophia immediately acquainted them 
with what had befallen Jones, and begged them to take 
care of him. Upon which Western, who had been much 
alarmed by meeting his daughter’s horse without its rider, 
and was now overjoyed to find her unhurt, cried out, “ I am 
glad it is no worse. If Tom hath broken his arm, we will 
get a joiner to mend un again.” 

The squire alighted from his horse, and proceeded to his 
house on foot, with his daughter and Jones. An impartial 
spectator, who had met them on the way, would, on view¬ 
ing their several countenances, have concluded Sophia alone 
to have been the object of compassion : for as to Jones, he 
exulted in having probably saved the life of the young lady, 
at the price only of a broken bone ; and Mr. Western, 
though he was not unconcerned at the accident which had 
befallen Jones, was, however, delighted in a much higher 
degree with the fortunate escape of his daughter. 

The generosity of Sophia’s temper construed this be¬ 
havior of Jones into great bravery ; and it made a deep 
impression on her heart : for certain it is, that there is no 
one quality which so generally recommends men to women 
as this, proceeding, if we believe the common opinion, 
from that natural timidity of the sex which is, says Mr. 
Osborne, “ so great that a woman is the most cowardly of 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


197 


all tlie creatures God ever made ” — a sentiment more 
remarkable for its bluntness than for its truth. Aristotle, 
in his Politics, doth them, I believe, more justice when he 
says, u the modesty and fortitude of men differ from those 
virtues in women ; for the fortitude which becomes a 
woman would be cowardice in a man, and the modesty 
which becomes a man would be pertness in a woman.” 
Nor is there, perhaps, more of truth in the opinion of those 
who derive the partiality which women are inclined to show 
to the brave, from this excess of their fear. Mr. Bayle (I 
think, in his article of Helen) imputes this, and with greater 
probability, to their violent love of glory ; for the truth of 
which we have the authority of him who of all others saw 
farthest into human nature, and who introduces the heroine 
of his Odyssey, the great pattern of matrimonial love and 
constancy, assigning the glory of her husband as the only 
source of her affection towards him.* 

However this be, certain it is that the accident oper¬ 
ated very strongly on Sophia ; and, indeed, after much 
inquiry into the matter, I am inclined to believe that, at 
this very time, the charming Sophia made no less impression 
on the heart of Jones ; to say the truth, he had for some 
time become sensible of the irresistible power of her charms. 


CHAPTEK XIY. 

THE ARRIVAL OF A SURGEON. HIS OPERATION’S, AND A LONG 
DIALOGUE BETWEEN SOPHIA AND HER MAID. 

When they arrived at Mr. Western’s hall, Sophia, who 
had tottered along with much difficulty, sunk down in her 
chair ; but by the assistance of hartshorn and water she was 

* The English reader will not find this in the poem ; for the sentimeni 
is entirely left out in the translation. 





198 


THE HISTORY OF 


prevented from fainting away, and had pretty well recov¬ 
ered her spirits when the surgeon who was sent for to Jones 
appeared. Mr. Western, who imputed these symptoms in 
his daughter to her fall, advised her to be presently blooded 
by way of prevention. In this opinion he was seconded by 
the surgeon, who gave so many reasons for bleeding, and 
quoted so many cases where persons had miscarried for want 
of it, that the squire became very importunate, and indeed 
insisted peremptorily that his daughter should be blooded. 

Sophia soon yielded to the commands of her father, 
though entirely contrary to her own inclinations, for she 
suspected, I believe, less danger from the fright than either 
the squire or the surgeon. She then stretched out her beau¬ 
tiful arm, and the operator began to prepare for his work. 

While the servants were busied in providing materials, 
the surgeon, who imputed the backwardness which had ap¬ 
peared in Sophia to her fears, began to comfort her with 
assurances that there was not the least danger ; for no acci¬ 
dent, he said, could ever happen in bleeding, but from the 
monstrous ignorance of pretenders to surgery, which he 
pretty plainly insinuated was not at present to be appre¬ 
hended. Sophia declared she was not under the least ap¬ 
prehension ; adding, 44 If you open an artery, I promise 
you I’ll forgive you.” 44 Will you?” cries Western: 
44 D—n me, if I will. If he does thee the least mischief, 
d—n me if I don’t ha’ the heart’s blood o’un out.” The 
surgeon assented to bleed her upon these conditions, and 
then proceeded to his operation, which he performed with 
as much dexterity as he had promised ; and with as much 
quickness : for he took but little blood from her, saying it 
was much safer to bleed again and again than to take away 
too much at once. 

Sophia, when her arm was bound up, retired : for she 
was not willing (nor was it, perhaps, strictly decent) to be 
present at the operation on Jones. Indeed, one objection 



TOM JONES: A FOUND LING. 


199 


which she had to bleeding (though she did not make it) 
was the delay which it would occasion to setting the broken 
bone. For Western, when Sophia was concerned, had no 
consideration but for her ; and as for Jones himself, he 
u sat like patience on a monument smiling at grief.” To 
say the truth, when he saw the blood springing from the 
lovely arm of Sophia, he scarce thought of what had hap¬ 
pened to himself. 

The surgeon now ordered his patient to be stripped to his 
shirt, and then entirely baring the arm, he began to stretch 
and examine it in such a manner that the tortures he put 
him to caused Jones to make several wry faces ; which the 
surgeon observing, greatly wondered at, crying, “ What is 
the matter, sir ? I am sure it is impossible I should hurt 
you.” And then holding forth the broken arm, he began 
a long and very learned lecture of anatomy, in which sim¬ 
ple and double fractures were most accurately considered ; 
and the several ways in which Jones might have broken his 
arm were discussed, with proper annotations, showing how 
many of these would have been better and how many worse 
than the present case. 

Having at length finished his labored harangue, with 
which the audience, though it had greatly raised their atten¬ 
tion and admiration, were not much edified, as they really 
understood not a single syllable of all he had said, he pro¬ 
ceeded to business, which he was more expeditious in finish¬ 
ing than he had been in beginning. 

Jones was then ordered into a bed, which Mr. Western 
compelled him to accept at his own house, and sentence of 
water-gruel was passed upon him. 

Among the good company which had attended in the hall 
during the bone-setting, Mrs. Honour was one who, being 
summoned to her mistress as soon as it was over, and asked 
by her how the young gentleman did, presently launched 
into extravagant praises on the magnanimity, as she called 








200 


THE HISTORY Ob 


it, of his behavior, which, she said, “ was so charming in so 
pretty a creature. ” She then burst forth into much warmei 
encomiums on the beauty of his person, enumerating many 
particulars, and ending with the whiteness of his skin. 

This discourse had an effect on Sophia’s countenance 
which would not perhaps have escaped the observance of 
the sagacious waiting-woman had she once looked her mis¬ 
tress in the face all the time she was speaking : but as a 
looking-glass, which was most commodiously placed oppo¬ 
site to her, gave her an opportunity of surveying those fea¬ 
tures, in which, of all others, she took most delight, so she 
had not once removed her eyes from that amiable object 
during her whole speech. 

Mrs. Honour was so entirely wrapped up in the subject on 
which she exercised her tongue, and the object before her 
eyes, that she gave her mistress time to conquer her con¬ 
fusion ; which having done, she smiled on her maid, and 
told her, “ she was certainly in love with this young fel¬ 
low.” “I in love, madam !” answers she: “ upon my 
word, ma’am, I assure you, ma’am, upon my soul, ma’am, 
I am not. ” “ Why, if you was, ’ ’ cries her mistress, ‘‘ I 

see no reason that you should be ashamed of it, for he is 
certainly a pretty fellow.” u Yes, ma’am,” answered the 
other, “ that lie is, the most handsomest man I ever saw in 
my life. Yes, to be sure, that he is, and, as your ladyship 
says, I don’t know why I should be ashamed of loving him, 
though he is my betters. To be sure, gentlefolks are but 
flesh and blood no more than us servants. Besides, as for 
Mr. Jones, tliof Squire All worthy hath made a gentleman 
of him, he was not so good as myself by birth : for tliof 
I am a poor body, I am an honest person’s child, and my 
father and mother were married, which is more than some 
people can say, as high as they hold their heads. Marry, 
come up ! I assure you, my dirty cousin ! tliof his skin be 
so white, and to be sure it is the most whitest that ever was 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


201 


seen, I am a Christian as well as lie, and nobody can sa;y 
that I am base born : my grandfather was a clergyman, * 
and would have been very angry, I believe, to have thought 
any of his family should have taken up with Molly Sea- 
grim’s dirty leavings.” 

Perhaps Sophia might have suffered her maid to run on 
in this manner, from wanting sufficient spirits to stop her 
tongue, which the reader may probably conjecture was no 
very easy task ; for certainly there were some passages in 
her speech which were far from being agreeable to the lady. 
However, she now checked the torrent, as there seemed no 
end of its flowing. u I wonder,” says she, u at your 
assurance in daring to talk thus of one of my father’s 
friends. As to the wench, I order you never to mention 
her name to me. And with regard to the young gentle¬ 
man’s birth, those who can say nothing more to his disad¬ 
vantage may as well be silent on that head, as I desire you 
will be for the future. ’ ’ 

‘ 6 1 am sorry I have offended your ladyship, ’ ’ answered 
Mrs, Honour. u I am sure 1 hate Molly Seagrim as much 
as your ladyship can ; and as for abusing Squire Jones, I 
can call all the servants in the house to witness that when¬ 
ever any talk hath been about bastards, I have always taken 
his part : for which of you, says I to the footmen, would 
not be a bastard, if he could, to be made a gentleman of ? 
And, says I, I am sure he is a very fine gentleman ; and lie 
hath one of the whitest hands in the world ; for to be sure 
so he hath ; and, says I, one of the sweetest temperedest, 
best naturedest men in the world he is ; and, says I, all the 
servants and neighbors all round the country loves him. 

* This is the second person of low condition whom we have recorded 
in this history to have sprung from the clergy. It is to be hoped such 
instances will, in future ages, when some provision is made for the 
families of the inferior clergy, appear stranger than they can be thought 
at present. 






202 


THE HISTORY OF 


And, to be sure, I could tell jour ladjsliip something, but 
that I am afraid it would offend you. 11 “ What could you 

tell me, Honour?” says Sophia. “ Hay, ma’am, to be sure 
he meant nothing by it, therefore I would not have your 
ladyslirp be offended.” “Prithee tell me,” says Sophia; 
u I will know it this instant.” “ Why, ma’am,” answered 
Mrs. Honour, “ he came into the room one day last week 
when I was at work, and there lay your ladyship’s muff on 
a chair, and to be sure he put his hands into it ; that very 
muff your ladyship gave me but yesterday. La ! says I, 
Mr. Jones, you will stretch my lady’s muff, and spoil it : 
but he still kept his hands in it : and then he kissed it—to 
be sure I hardly ever saw such a kiss in my life as he gave 
it. ” “I suppose he did not know it was mine, ’ ’ replied 
Sophia. “ Your ladyship shall hear, ma’am. He kissed it 
again and again, and said it was the prettiest muff in the 
world. La ! sir, says I, you have seen it a hundred times. 
Yes, Mrs. Honour, cried he ; but who can see anything beau¬ 
tiful in the presence of your lady but herself ?—Hay, that’s 
not all neither; but I hope your ladyship won’t be 
offended, for to be sure he meant nothing. One day, as 
your ladyship was playing on the harpsichord to my mas¬ 
ter, Mr. Jones was sitting in the next room, and me- 
thought he looked melancholy. La ! says I, Mr. Jones, 
what’s the matter ? a penny for your thoughts, says I. 
Why, hussy, says he, starting up from a dream, what can 
1 be thinking of, when that angel your mistress is playing ? 
And then scpieezing me by the hand, Oh ! Mrs. Honour, 
says he, how happy will that man be !—and then he sighed. 
Upon my troth, his breath is as sweet as a nosegay. But to 
be sure he meant no harm by it. So I hope your ladyship 
will not mention a word : for he gave me a crown never to 
mention it, and made me swear upon a book, but I believe 
indeed it was not the Bible.” 

Till something of a more beautiful red than vermilion be 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


208 

| found out, I shall say nothing of Sophia’s color on this occa- 
i sion. u Iio—nour,” says she, “ I—if you will not mention 

I this any more to me—nor to anybody else, I will not betray 
you—I mean, I will not he angry ; but I am afraid of your 
tongue. Why, my girl, will you give it such liberties ?” 
“ Hay, ma’am,” answered she, “ to he sure 1 would 

( sooner cut out my tongue than offend your ladyship. To 
he sure I shall never mention a word that your ladyship 
would not have me.” “ Why, I would not have you men- 

I tion this any more,” says Sophia, “ for it may come to my 
father’s ears, and he would he angry with Mr. Jones ; 

I though I really believe, as you say, he meant nothing. I 
should he very angry myself if I imagined—” “Hay, 
ma’am,” says Honour,“ I protest I believe he meant nothing. 
I thought he talked as if he was out of his senses ; nay, he 
said he believed he was beside himself when he had spoken 
the words. Ay, sir, says I, I believe so too. Yes, says he, 
Honour.—But I ask your ladyship’s pardon ; I could tear my 
tongue out for offending you.” “ Go on,” says Sophia ; 
u you may mention anything you have not told me before. ” 
“ Yes, Honour, says he (this was some time afterwards,when 
he gave me the crown), I am neither such a coxcomb, or 
such a villain, as to think of her in any other delight but as 
my goddess ; as such I will always worship and adore her 
while I have breath. This was all, ma’am, I will be sworn, 
to the best of my remembrance. I was in a passion with 
him myself, till I found he meant no harm.” “ Indeed, 
Honour,” says Sophia, “ I believe you have a real affec¬ 
tion for me. I was provoked the other day when 1 
gave you warning ; but if you have a desire to stay with 
me, you shall.” “To be sure, ma’am,” answered Mrs. 
Honour, “ I shall never desire to part with your ladyship. 
To be sure, I almost cried my eyes out when you gave me 
warning. It would be very ungrateful in me to desire to leave 
your ladyship ; because as why, I should never get so good 






204 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

a place again. I am sure I would live and die with yom 

ladyship ; for, as poor Mr. Jones said, happy is the man-” 

Here the dinner-bell interrupted a conversation which had 
wrought such an effect on Sophia that she was, perhaps, 
more obliged to her bleeding in the morning than she, at 
the time, had apprehended she should be. As to the pres¬ 
ent situation of her mind, I shall adhere to a rule of 
Horace, by not attempting to describe it, from despair of 
success. Most of my readers will suggest it easily to them 
selves ; and the few who cannot would not understand the 
picture, or at least would deny it to be natural, if ever so 
well drawn. 






BOOK V. 


CONTAINING A PORTION OP TIME SOMEWHAT LONGER THAN HALT A 

YEAR. 


CHAPTER I. 

OF THE serious IN WRITING, AND FOR WHAT PURPOSE IT IS 

INTRODUCED, 

Peradventure there may be no parts in this prodigious 
work which will give the reader less pleasure in the perus¬ 
ing than those which have given the author the greatest 
pains in composing. Among these probably may be reck¬ 
oned those initial essays which we have prefixed to the his¬ 
torical matter contained in every book ; and which we have 
determined to be essentially necessary to this kind of writ¬ 
ing, of which we have set ourselves at the head. 

For this our determination we do not hold ourselves strict¬ 
ly bound to assign any reason, it being abundantly sufficient 
that we have laid it down as a rule necessary to be ob¬ 
served in all prosai-comi-epic writing. Whoever de¬ 
manded the reasons of that nice unity of time or place 
which is now established to be so essential to dramatic 
poetry ? What critic hath been ever asked, why a play 
may not contain two days as well as one ? Or why the au¬ 
dience (provided they travel, like electors, without any ex¬ 
pense) may not be wafted fifty miles as well as five ? Hath 
any commentator well accounted for the limitation which 
an ancient critic hath set to the drama, which he will ha\e 
contain neither more nor less than five acts ? Or hath any 











206 


THE HISTORY OF 


one living attempted to explain what the modern judges of 
our theatres mean by that word low / by which they have 
happily succeeded in banishing all humor from the stage, 
and have made the theatre as dull as a drawing-room ? 
Upon all these occasions the world seems to have embraced 
a maxim of our law, viz., cuicunque in arte suajperito cre- 
dendum est: for it seems perhaps difficult to conceive that 
any one should have had enough of impudence to lay down 
dogmatical rules in any art or science without the least 
foundation. In such cases, therefore, we are apt to con¬ 
clude there are sound and good reasons at the bottom, 
though we are unfortunately not able to see so far. 

Now, in reality, the world have paid too great a compli¬ 
ment to critics, and have imagined them men of much 
greater profundity than they really are. From this com¬ 
placence the critics have been emboldened to assume a dic¬ 
tatorial power, and have so far succeeded that they are now 
become the masters, and have the assurance to give laws to 
those authors from whose predecessors they originally re¬ 
ceived them. 

The critic, rightly considered, is no more than the clerk, 
whose office it is to transcribe the rules and laws laid down 
by those great judges whose vast strength of genius hath 
placed them in the light of legislators, in the several sciences 
over which they presided. This office was all which the 
critics of old aspired to ; nor did they ever dare to advance 
a sentence, without supporting it by the authority of the 
judge from whence it was borrowed. 

But in process of* time, and in ages of ignorance, the 
clerk began to invade the power and assume the dignity of 
his master. The laws of writing were no longer founded 
on the practice of the author, but on the dictates of the 
critic. The clerk became the legislator, and those very 
peremptorily gave laws whose business it was, first, only 
to transcribe them. 








TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


207 


Hence arose an obvious and perhaps an unavoidable 
error ; for these critics being men of shallow capacities, 
very easily mistook mere form for substance. They acted as 
a judge would, who should adhere to the lifeless letter of 
law, and reject the spirit. Little circumstances, which were 
perhaps accidental in a great author, were by these critics 
considered to constitute his chief merit, and transmitted as 
essentials to be observed by all his successors. To these 
encroachments time and ignorance, the two great sup¬ 
porters of imposture, gave authority ; and thus many rules 
for good writing have been established which have not the 
least foundation in truth or nature, and which commonly 
serve for no other purpose than to curb and restrain genius, 
in the same manner as it would have restrained the danc¬ 
ing-master, had the many excellent treatises on that art laid 
it down as an essential rule that every man must dance in 
chains. 

To avoid, therefore, all imputation of laying down a rule 
for posterity founded only on the authority of ipse dixit 
—for which, to say the truth, we have not the profoundest 
veneration—we shall here waive all the privilege above 
contended for, and proceed to lay before the reader the rea¬ 
sons which have induced us to intersperse these several 
digressive essays in the course of this work. 

And here we shall of necessity be led to open a new vein 
of knowledge, which, if it hath been discovered, hath not, 


to our remembrance, been wrought on by any ancient or 
modern writer. This vein is no other than that of contrast, 
which runs through all the works of the creation, and may 
probably have a large share in constituting in us the idea 
of all beauty, as well natural as artificial : for what demon¬ 
strates the beauty and excellence of anything but its re¬ 
verse ? Thus the beauty of day, and that of summer, is set 
off by the horrors of night and winter. And, I believe, if 












208 


THE HISTORY OF 


it was possible for a man to liave seen only the two former, 
he would have a very imperfect idea of their beauty. 

But to avoid too serious an air : can it be doubted but 
that the finest woman in the world would lose all benefit of 
her charms in the eye of a man who had never seen one of 
another cast ? The ladies themselves seem so sensible of 
this that they are aU industrious to procure foils : nay, 
they will become foils to themselves : for I have observed 
(at Bath particularly) that they endeavor to appear as ugly 
as possible in the morning, in order to set off that beauty 
which they intend to show you in the evening. 

Most artists have this secret in practice, though some, 
perhaps, have not much studied the theory. The jeweller 
knows that the finest brilliant requires a foil ; and the pain¬ 
ter, by the contrast of his figures, often acquires great ap¬ 
plause. A great genius among us will illustrate this matter 
fully. I cannot, indeed, range him under any general head 
of common artists, as he hath a title to be placed among 
those. 

Inventas qui vitam excoluere per artes. 

Who by invented arts liave life improved. 

I mean here the inventor of that most exquisite entertain¬ 
ment called the English Pantomime. 

This entertainment consisted of tw T o parts, which the in¬ 
ventor distinguished by the names of the serious and the 
comic. The serious exhibited a certain number of heathen 
gods and heroes, who were certainly the worst and dullest 
company into which an audience was ever introduced ; and 
(which was a secret known to few) were actually intended so 
to be, in order to contrast the comic part of the entertain¬ 
ment, and to display the tricks of harlequin to the better 
advantage. 

This was, perhaps, no very civil use of such personages : 
but the contrivance was, nevertheless, ingenious enough, 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


209 


and had its effect. And this will now plainly appear if, 
instead of serious and comic, we supply the words duller 
and dullest ; for the comic was certainly duller than any¬ 
thing before shown on the stage, and could be set off only 
by that superlative degree of dulness which composed the 
serious. So intolerably serious, indeed, were these gods 
and heroes, that harlequin (though the English gentleman 
of that name is not at all related to the French family, for 
he is of a much more serious disposition) was always wel¬ 
come on the stage, as he relieved the audience from worse 
company. 

Judicious writers have always practised this art of con¬ 
trast with great success. I have been surprised that Horace 
should cavil at this art in Homer ; but indeed he contra¬ 
dict/3 himself in the very next line : 

Indignor quandoque bonus dormitcit Homerus; 

Verum operi longo fas est obrepere somnuan. 

I grieve if e’er great Homer cliance to sleep, 

Yet slumbers on long works have right to creep. 

For we are not here to understand, as perhaps some have, 
than an author actually falls asleep while he is writing. It 
is true that readers are too apt to be so overtaken ; but if 
the work was as long as any of Oldmixon, the author him¬ 
self is too well entertained to be subject to the least drow¬ 
siness. He is, as Mr. Pope observes, 

Sleepless himself to give his readers sleep. 

To say the truth, these soporific parts are so many scenes 
of serious artfully interwoven, in order to contrast and set 
off the rest ; and this is the true meaning of a late facetious 
writer, who told the public that whenever he was dull they 
might be assured there was a design in it. 

In this light, then, or rather in this darkness, I would 
have the reader to consider these initial essays. And after 
this warning, if he shall be of opinion that he can find 








210 


THE HISTORY OF 

enough of serious in other parts of this history, he may pass 
over these, in which we profess to be laboriously dull, and 
begin the following books at the second chapter. 

CHAPTER II. 

IN WHICH MR. JONES RECEIVES MANY FRIENDLY VISITS DUR' 
ING HIS CONFINEMENT ; WITH SOME FINE TOUCHES OF THE 
PASSION OF LOVE, SCARCE VISIBLE TO THE NAKED EYE. 

Tom Jones had many visitors during his confinement, 
though some, perhaps, were not very agreeable to him. 
Mr. Allworthy saw him almost every day ; but though he 
pitied Tom’s sufferings, and greatly approved the gallant 
behavior which had occasioned them, yet he thought this 
was a favorable opportunity to bring him to a sober sense 
of his indiscreet conduct, and that wholesome advice for 
that purpose could never be applied at a more proper 
season than at the present, when the mind was softened 
by pain and sickness, and alarmed by danger, and when 
its attention was unembarrassed with those turbulent pas¬ 
sions which engage us in the pursuit of pleasure. 

At all seasons, therefore, when the good man was alone 
with the youth, especially when the latter was totally at 
ease, he took occasion to remind him of lyis former mis¬ 
carriages, but in the mildest and tenderest manner, and 
only in order to introduce the caution which he prescribed 
for his future behavior, “ on which alone,” he assured 
him, “ would depend his own felicity, and the kindness 
which he might yet promise himself to receive at the hands 
of his father by adoption, unless he should hereafter forfeit 
his good opinion : for as to what had passed,” he said, “ it 
should be all forgiven and forgotten. He therefore advised 
him to make a good use of this accident, that so in the end 
it might prove a visitation for his own good.” 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 211 

Thwackum was likewise pretty assiduous in kis visits ; 
and he too considered a sick-bed to be a convenient scene 
for lectures. His style, however, was more severe than 
Mr. Allworthy’s : he told his pupil “ That he ought to 
look on his broken limb as a judgment from heaven on his 
» sins. That it would become him to be daily on his knees, 
pouring forth thanksgivings that he had broken his arm 
only, and not his neck ; which latter,” he said, “ was very 
probably reserved for some future occasion, and that, per¬ 
haps, not very remote. For his part,” he said, “ he had 
often wondered some judgment had not overtaken him 
before ; but it might be perceived by this that Divine 
punishments, though slow, are always sure. ’ ’ Hence like¬ 
wise he advised him ‘ ‘ to foresee, with equal certainty, the 
greater evils which were yet behind, and which were as 
sure as this of overtaking him in his state of reprobacy. 
These are, ’ ’ said he, ‘ ‘ to be averted only by such a thor¬ 
ough and sincere repentance as is not to be expected or 
hoped for from one so abandoned in his youth, and whose 
mind, I am afraid, is totally corrupted. It is my duty, 
however, to exhort you to this repentance, though I too 
well know all exhortations will be vain and fruitless. But 
liberavi animam meam. I can accuse my own conscience 
of no neglect ; though it is at the same time with the ut¬ 
most concern I see you travelling on to certain misery in 
this world, and to as certain damnation in the next.” 

Square talked in a very different strain ; he said, “ Such 
accidents as a broken bone were below the consideration 
of a wise man. That it was abundantly sufficient, to recon¬ 
cile the mind to any of these mischances, to reflect that 
they are liable to befall the wisest of mankind, and are un¬ 
doubtedly for the good of the whole.” He said, “ it was 
' a mere abuse of words to call those things evils in which 
there was no moral unfitness: that pain, which was the 
worst consequence of such accidents, was the most con- 










212 


THE HISTORY OF 


temptible thing in the world with more of the like sen 
tences, extracted out of the second book of Tully’s Tuscu- 
lan questions, and from the great Lord Shaftesbury. In 
pronouncing these he was one day so eager that he unfor¬ 
tunately bit his tongue, and in such a manner that it not 
only put an end to his discourse, but created much emo¬ 
tion in him, and caused him to mutter an oath or two ; but 
what was worst of all, this accident gave Thwackum, who 
was present, and who held all such doctrine to be heathen¬ 
ish and atheistical, an opportunity to clap a judgment on 
his back, Now this was done with so malicious a sneer 
that it totally unhinged (if I may so say) the temper of 
the philosopher, which the bite of his tongue had some¬ 
what ruffled ; and as he was disabled from venting his 
wrath at his lips, he had possibly found a more violent 
method of revenging himself, had not the surgeon, who 
was then luckily in the room, contrary to his own interest, 
interposed and preserved the peace. 

Mr. Bliffl visited his friend Jones but seldom, and never 
alone. This worthy young man, however, professed much 
regard for him, and as great concern at his misfortune; 
but cautiously avoided any intimacy, lest, as he frequently 
hinted, it might contaminate the sobriety of his own char¬ 
acter : for which purpose he had constantly in his mouth 
that proverb in which Solomon speaks against evil commu¬ 
nication. Not that he was so bitter as Thwackum ; for 
he always expressed some hopes of Toni’s reformation ; 
“ which,” he said, “ the unparalleled goodness shown by 
his uncle on this occasion must certainly effect in one not 
absolutely abandoned:” but concluded, “ if Mr. Jones 
ever offends hereafter, I shall not be able to say a syllable 
in his favor. ’ ’ 

As to Squire Western, he was seldom out of the sick¬ 
room, unless when he was engaged either in the field or 
over his bottle. Nay, he would sometimes retire hither to 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


213 


take liis beer, and it was not without difficulty that he was 
prevented from forcing Jones to take his beer too : for no 
cpiack ever held his nostrum to be a more general panacea 
than he did this ; which, he said, had more virtue in it than 
was in all the physic in an apothecary’s shop. lie was, 
however, by much entreaty, prevailed on to forbear the 
application of this medicine ; but from serenading his pa¬ 
tient every hunting morning with the horn under his win¬ 
dow, it was impossible to withhold him ; nor did he ever 
lay aside that halloo, with which he entered into all com¬ 
panies, when he visited Jones, without any regard to the 
sick person’s being at that time either awake or asleep. 

This boisterous behavior, as it meant no harm, so hap¬ 
pily it effected none, and was abundantly compensated to 
Jones, as soon as he was able to sit up, by the company of 
Sophia, whom the squire then brought to visit him ; nor 
was it, indeed, long before Jones was able to attend her to 
the harpsichord, where she would kindly condescend, for 
hours together, to charm him with the most delicious 
music, unless when the squire thought proper to interrupt 
her by insisting on Old Sir Simon, or some other of his fa¬ 
vorite jiieces. 

Notwithstanding the nicest guard which Sophia endeav¬ 
ored to set on her behavior, she could not avoid letting 
some appearances now and then slip forth; for love may 
asrain be likened to a disease in this, that when it is denied 
a vent in one part, it will certainly break out in another. 
What her lips, therefore, concealed, her eyes, her blushes, 
and many little involuntary actions, betrayed. 

One day, when Sophia was playing on the harpsichord, 
and Jones was attending, the squire came into the room, 
crying, “ There, Tom, I have had a battle for thee below- 
stairs with thick parson Thwackum. He hath been a tell¬ 
ing Allworthy, before my face, that the broken bone was a 
judgment upon thee. D—n it, says I, how can that be { 









214 


THE HISTORY OF 


Did he not come by it in defence of a young woman ? A 
judgment indeed ! Pox, if he never doth anything worse, 
he will go to heaven sooner than all the parsons in the coun¬ 
try. He hath more reason to glory in it than to be 
ashamed of it.” “ Indeed, sir,” says Jones, “I have no 
reason for either ; but if it preserved Miss "Western, I shall 
always think it the happiest accident of my life.” “ And 
to gu,” said the squire, “ to zet Allworthy against thee vor 
it ! D—n un, if the parson had unt his petticuats on, 1 
should have lent un o flick ; for I love thee dearly, my 
boy, and d—n me if there is anything in my power which 
I won’t do for thee. Sha’t take thy choice of all the horses 
in my stable to-morrow morning, except only the Chevalier 
and Miss Slouch.” Jones thanked him, but declined ac¬ 
cepting the offer. “Hay,” added the squire, “ sha’t ha 
the sorrel mare that Sophy rode. She cost me fifty guin¬ 
eas, and comes six years old this grass.” “ If she had cost 
me a thousand,” cries Jones passionately, “ I would have 
given her to the dogs.” “ Pooh ! pooh !” answered Wes¬ 
tern : ‘ ( What ! because she broke thy arm ? Shouldst for¬ 
get and forgive. I thought liadst been more a man than to 
bear malice against a dumb creature.”—Here Sophia in¬ 
terposed, and put an end to the conversation by desiring 
her father’s leave to play to him, a request which he never 
refused. 

The countenance of Sophia had undergone more than one 
change during the foregoing speeches ; and probably she 
imputed the passionate resentment which Jones had ex¬ 
pressed against the mare to a different motive from that 
from which her father had derived it. Her spirits were at 
this time in a visible flutter ; and she played so intolerably 
ill that had not Western soon fallen asleep he must have 
remarked it. Jones, however, who was sufficiently awake, 
and was not without an ear, any more than without eyes, 
made some observations, which being joined to all which 




TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


215 


the reader may remember to have passed formerly, gave 
him pretty strong assurances, when he came to reflect on 
the whole, that all was not well in the tender bosom of 
Sophia, an opinion which many young gentlemen will, I 
doubt not, extremely wonder at his not having been well 
confirmed in long ago. To confess the truth, he had rather 
too much diffidence in himself, and was not forward enough 
in seeing the advances of a young lady, a misfortune which 
can be cured only by that early town education which is 
at present so generally in fashion. 

When these thoughts had fully taken possession of Jones, 
they occasioned a perturbation in his mind which, in a 
constitution less pure and firm than his, might have been, 
at such a season, attended with very dangerous consequen- 
ces. He was truly sensible of the great worth of Sophia. 
He extremely liked her person, no less admired her accom¬ 
plishments, and tenderly loved her goodness. In reality, as 
lie had never once entertained any thought of possessing 
her, nor had ever given the least voluntary indulgence to 
his inclinations, he had a much stronger passion for her than 
he himself was acquainted with. His heart now brought 
forth the full secret, at the same time that it assured him 
the adorable object returned his affection. 




CHAPTER III. 


ATHICH ALL WHO HAVE NO HEART WILL THINK TO CONTAIN 

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 

The reader will perhaps imagine the sensations which 
now arose in Jones to have been so sweet and delicious 
that they would rather tend to produce a cheerful serenity 
in the mind than any of those dangerous effects which 
we have mentioned ; but, in fact, sensations of this kind, 
however delicious, are, at their first recognition, of a very 











216 


THE HISTORY OF 


tumultuous nature, and have very little of tlie opiate in 
them. They were, moreover, in the present case, embit¬ 
tered with certain circumstances, which being mixed with 
sweeter ingredients, tended altogether to compose a draught 
that might be termed bitter-sweet ; than which, as nothing 
can be more disagreeable to the palate, so nothing, in the 
metaphorical sense, can be so injurious to the mind. 

For first, though he had sufficient foundation to flatter 
himself in what he had observed in Sophia, he was not yet 
free from doubt of misconstruing compassion, or at best, 
esteem, into a warmer regard. lie was far from a sanguine 
assurance that Sophia had any such affection towards him 
as might promise his inclinations that harvest which, if they 
were encouraged and nursed, they would finally grow up to 
require. Besides, if he could hope to find no bar to his 
happiness from the daughter, he thought himself certain 
of meeting an effectual bar in the father, who, though he 
was a country squire in his diversions, was perfectly a man 
of the world in whatever regarded his fortune ; had the 
most violent affection for his only daughter, and had often 
signified, in his cups, the pleasure he pnrposed in seeing her 
married to one of the richest men in the county. Jones 
was not so vain and senseless a coxcomb as to expect, from 
any regard which Western had professed for him, that he 
would ever be induced to lay aside these views of advanc¬ 
ing his daughter. He well knew that fortune is generally 
the principal if not the sole consideration which operates 
on the best of parents in these matters : for friendship 
makes us warmly espouse the interest of others ; but it is 
very cold to the gratification of their passions. Indeed, to • 
feel the happiness which may result from this, it is neces¬ 
sary we should possess the passion ourselves. As he had 
therefore no hopes of obtaining her father’s consent, so he 
thought to endeavor to succeed without it, and by such 
means to frustrate the great point of Mr. Western’s life, 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


217 


was to make a very ill use of his hospitality, and a very un- 
j grateful return to the many little favors received, however 
roughly, at his hands. If he saw such a consequence with 
horror and disdain, how much more was lie shocked with 
what regarded Mr. Allworthy, to whom, as he had more 
than filial obligations, so had he for him more than filial 
piety. He knew the nature of that good man to be so averse 
to any baseness or treachery, that the least attempt of such 
a kind would make the sight of the guilty person for ever 
odious to his eyes, and his name a detestable sound in his 
ears. The appearance of such insurmountable difficulties 
was sufficient to have inspired him with despair, however 
ardent his wishes had been ; but even these were controlled 
by compassion for another woman. The idea of lovely 
Molly now intruded itself before him. He had sworn eter¬ 
nal constancy in her arms, and she had as often vowed 
never to outlive his deserting her. He now saw her in all 
the most shocking postures of death ; nay, he considered 
all the miseries of prostitution to which she would be liable, 
and of which he would be doubly the occasion, first by se¬ 
ducing and then by deserting her ; for he well knew the 
hatred which all her neighbors, and even her own sisters, 
bore her, and how ready they would all be to tear her to ' 
pieces. Indeed, he had exposed her to more envy than 
shame, or rather to the latter by means of the former ; for 
many women abused her for being a whore, while they en¬ 
vied her her lover and her finery, and would have been them¬ 
selves glad to have purchased these at the same rate. The 
ruin, therefore, of the poor girl must, he foresaw, unavoid¬ 
ably attend his deserting her ; and this thought stung him to 
the soul. Poverty and distress seemed to him to give none a 
right of aggravating those misfortunes. The meanness of 

O uo O 

her condition did not req>resent her misery as of little conse¬ 
quence in his eyes, nor did it appear to justify or even to 
palliate his guilt in bringing that misery upon her. But 







218 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


why do I mention justification ? His own heart would not 
suffer him to destroy a human creature who, he thought, 
loved him, and had to that love sacrificed her innocence. 
His own good heart pleaded her cause ; not as a cold venal 
advocate, but as one interested in the event, and which 
must itself deeply share in all the agonies its owner brought 
on another. 

When this powerful advocate had sufficiently raised the 
pity of Jones, by painting poor Molly in all the circum¬ 
stances of wretchedness, it artfully called in the assistance 
of another passion, and represented the girl in all the ami¬ 
able colors of youth, health, and beauty ; as one greatly the 
object of desire, and much more so, at least to a good mind, 
from being, at the same time, the object of compassion. 

Amidst these thoughts, poor Jones passed a long, sleep¬ 
less night, and in the morning the result of the whole was 
to abide by Molly, and to think no more of Sophia. 

In this virtuous resolution he continued all the next day 
till the evening, cherishing the idea of Molly, and driving 
Sophia from his thoughts ; but in the fatal evening, a very 
trifling accident set all his passions again on float, and 
worked so total a change in his mind that we think it de¬ 
cent to communicate it in a fresh chapter. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A. LITTLE CIIAPTEK, IN WHICH IS CONTAINED A LITTLE IN- 

CIDENT. 

Among other visitants who paid their compliments to 
the young gentleman in his confinement, Mrs. Honour was 
one. The reader, perhaps, when he reflects on some ex¬ 
pressions which have formerly dropped from her, may con¬ 
ceive that she herself had a very particular affection for Mr 


219 


TOM JOKES: A FOUNDLING. 

Jones ; but, in reality, it was no such tiling. Tom was a 
handsome young fellow, and for that species of men Mrs. 
Honour had some regard ; but this was perfectly indiscrimi¬ 
nate ; for having been crossed in the love which she bore 
a certain nobleman’s footman, who had baselv deserted her 
after a promise of marriage, she had so securely kept to¬ 
gether the broken remains of her heart that no man had 
ever since been able to possess himself of any single frag¬ 
ment. She viewed all handsome men with that equal re¬ 
gard and benevolence which a sober and virtuous mind 
bears to all the good. She might indeed be called a lover 
of men, as Socrates was a lover of mankind, preferring one 
to another for corporeal, as he for mental qualifications ; 
but never carrying this preference so far as to cause any 
perturbation in the philosophical serenity of her temper. 

The day after Mr. Jones had that conflict with himself 
which we have seen in the preceding chapter, Mrs. Honour 
came into his room, and finding him alone, began in the 
following manner: u La, sir, where do you think I have 
been ? I warrants you, you would not guess in fifty years ; 
but if you did guess, to be sure I must not tell you nei¬ 
ther. ” “ Nay, if it be something which you must not tell 

me,” said Jones, “ I shall have the curiosity to inquire, and 
I know you will not be so barbarous as to refuse me.” “ I 
don’t know,” cries she, “ why I should refuse you neither, 
for that matter ; for to be sure you won’t mention it any 
more. And for that matter, if you knew where I have 
been, unless you knew what I have been about, it would 
not signify much. Nay, I don’t see why it should be kept 
a secret for my part ; for to be sure she is the best lady in 
the world.” Upon this, Jones began to beg earnestly to 
be let into this secret, and faithfully promised not to di¬ 
vulge it. She then proceeded thus : “ Why, you must 
know, sir, my young lady sent me to inquire after Molly 
Seagrim, and to see whether the wench wanted anything ; 










22 0 THE HISTORY OF 

to be sure, I did not care to go, metliinks ; but servants 
must do what they are ordered.—How could you under¬ 
value yourself so, Mr. Jones ?—So my lady bid me go 
and carry her some linen, and other things. She is too 
good. If such forward sluts were sent to Bridewell, it 
would be better for them. I told my lady, says I, madam, 
your la’ship is encouraging idleness.” “ And was my 
Sophia so good ?” says Jones. “ My Sophia ! I assure 
you, marry come up,” answered Honour. “ And yet if you 
knew all—indeed, if I was as Mr. Jones, I should look a 
little higher than such trumpery as Molly Seagrim.” 
u What do you mean by these words,” replied Jones, “ If 
I knew all ?” “ I mean what I mean,” says Honour. 

“ Don’t you remember putting your hands in my lady’s 
muff once ? I vow I could almost find in my heart to*tell,. 
if I was certain my lady would never come to the hearing 
on’t.” Jones then made several solemn protestations. And 
Honour proceeded, “ then to be sure, my lady gave me 
that muff ; and afterwards, upon hearing what you had 
done—” “ Then you told her what I had done ?” inter¬ 

rupted Jones. “ If I did, sir,” answered she, “ you need 
not be angry with me. Many’s the man would have given 
his head to have had my lady told, if they had known— 
for, to be sure, the biggest lord in the land might be proud 
—but, I protest, I have a great mind not to tell you.” 
Jones fell to entreaties, and soon prevailed on her to go on 
thus. “ You must know then, sir, that my lady had given 
this muff to me ; but about a day or two after I had told 
her the story, she quarrels with her new muff, and to be 
sure it is the prettiest that ever was seen. Honour, says she, 
this is an odious muff ; it is too big for me, I can’t wear it : 
till I can get another, you must let me have my old one 
again, and you may have this in the room on’t—for she’s a 
good lady, and scorns to give a thing and take a thing, 1 
promise you that. So to be sure I fetched it her back 







TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


221 


again, and, I believe, she hath worn it upon her arm 
almost ever since, and I warrants hath given it many a kiss 
when nobody hath seen her. ’ ’ 

Here the conversation was interrupted by Mr. Western 
himself, who came to summon Jones to the harpsichord, 
whither the poor young fellow went all pale and trembling. 
This Western observed, but, on seeing Mrs. Honour, im¬ 
puted it to a wrong cause ; and having given Jones a hearty 
curse between jest and earnest, he bid him beat abroad, 
and not poach up the game in liis warren. 

Sophia looked this evening with more than usual beauty, 
and we may believe it was no small addition to her charms, 
in the eye of Mr. Jones, that she now happened to have on 
her right arm this very muff. 

She was playing one of her father’s favorite tunes, and 
lie was leaning on her chair, when the muff fell over her 
fingers, and put her out. This so disconcerted the squire 
that he snatched the muff from her, and with a hearty 
curse threw it into the fire. Sophia instantly started up, 
and with the utmost eagerness recovered it from the flames. 

Though this incident will probably appear of little conse¬ 
quence to many of our readers, yet, trifling as it was, it 
had so violent an effect on poor Jones that we thought it 
our duty to relate it. In reality, there are many little cir¬ 
cumstances too often omitted by injudicious historians, 
from which events of the utmost importance arise. The 
world may indeed be considered as a vast machine, in 
which the great wheels are originally set in motion by those 
which are very minute, and almost imperceptible to any 
but the strongest eyes. 

Thus, not all the charms of the incomparable Sophia ; 
not all the dazzling brightness and languishing softness of 
her eyes ; the harmony of her voice, and of her person ; 
not all her wit, good-humor, greatness of mind, or sweet¬ 
ness of disposition, had been able so absolutely to conquer 










222 


THE HIS TOE Y OF 


11 

and enslave the heart of poor Jones as this little incident of 
the muff. Thus the poet sweetly sings of Troy— 

- Captique dolis lachrymisque coacti 

Quos neque Tydides, nec Larismus Achilles, 

Non anni domuere decern , non mille Carinas. 

Wliat Diomede or Thetis’ greater son, 

A thousand ships, nor ten years’ siege had done, 

False tears and fawning words the city won. 

The citadel of Jones was now taken by surprise. All 
those considerations of honor and prudence which our hero 
had lately with so much military wisdom placed as guards 
over the avenues of his heart ran away from their posts, 
and the god of love marched in, in triumph. 


CHAPTER V. 

A VERY LONG CHAPTER, CONTAINING A VERY GREAT INCI¬ 
DENT. 

But though this victorious deity easily expelled his 
avowed enemies from the heart of Jones, he found it more 
difficult to supplant the garrison which he himself had 
placed there. To lay aside all allegory, the concern for 
what must become of poor Molly greatly disturbed and 
perplexed the mind of the worthy youth. The superior 
merit of Sophia totally eclipsed, or rather extinguished, all 
the beauties of the poor girl; but compassion instead of 
contempt succeeded to love. He was convinced the girl 
had placed all her affections, and all her prospect of future 
happiness, in him only. For this he had, he knew, given 
sufficient occasion, by the utmost profusion of tenderness 
towards her, a tendernesss which he had taken every means to 
persuade her he would always maintain. She, on her side, 


223 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 

had assured him of her firm belief in his promise, and had 
with the most solemn vows declared that on his fulfilling; or 

! # O 

>reaking these promises it depended whether she should be 
he happiest or most miserable of womankind. And to be 
he author of this highest degree of misery to a human being 
was a thought on which he could not bear to ruminate a 
single moment. lie considered this poor girl as having 
sacrificed to him everything in her little power ; as having 
been at her own expense the object of his pleasure ; as 
sighing and languishing for him even at that very instant. 
Shall then, says lie, my recovery, for which she hath so 
ardently wished ; shall my presence, which she hath so 
eagerly expected, instead of giving her that joy with which 
she hath flattered herself, cast her at once down into misery 
and despair ? Can I be such a villain ? Here, when the 
genius of poor Molly seemed triumphant, the love of So¬ 
phia towards him, which now appeared no longer dubious, 
rushed upon his mind, and bore away every obstacle before 
it. 

At length it occurred to him that he might possibly be 
able to make Molly amends another way ; namely, by giving 
her a sum of money. This, nevertheless, he almost despaired 
of her accepting, when he recollected the frequent and ve¬ 
hement assurances he had received from her that the world 
put in balance wfitli him would make her no amends for his 
loss. However, her extreme poverty, and chiefly her egre¬ 
gious vanity (somewhat of which hath been already hinted to 
the reader), gave him some little hope that, notwithstanding 
all her avowed tenderness, she might in time be brought to 
content herself with a fortune superior to her expectation, 
and which might indulge her vanity by setting her above 
all her equals. He resolved, therefore, to take the first op 
portunity of making a proposal of this kind. 

One day, accordingly, when his arm was so well recov¬ 
ered that he could walk easily with it slung in a sash, he stole 








224 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


forth, at a season when the squire was engaged in his fit 
exercises, and visited his fair one. Her mother and si 
ters, whom he found taking their tea, informed him fi) 
that Molly was not at home ; but afterwards the eldest s\ 
ter acquainted him, with a malicious smile, that she v ^ 
above stairs abed. Tom had no objection to this situati 
of his mistress, and immediately ascended the ladder which 
led towards her bed-chamber ; but when he came to the top 
he, to his great surprise, found the door fast ; nor could he 
for some time obtain any answer from within, for Molly, 
as she herself afterwards informed him, was fast asleep. 

The extremes of grief and joy have been remarked to 
produce very similar effects ; and when either of these 
rushes on us by surprise, it is apt to create such a total per¬ 
turbation and confusion that we are often thereby deprived 
of the use of all our faculties. It cannot therefore be won¬ 
dered at that the unexpected sight of Mr. Jones should so 
strongly operate on the mind of Molly, and should over¬ 
whelm her with such confusion, that for some minutes she 
was unable to express the great raptures with which the 
reader will suppose she was affected on this occasion. As 
for Jones, he was so entirely possessed, and, as it were, en¬ 
chanted, by the presence of his beloved object, that he for 
a while forgot Sophia, and consequently the principal pur¬ 
pose of his visit. 

This, however, soon recurred to his memory ; and after 
the first transports of their meeting were over, he found 
means by degrees to introduce a discourse on the fatal con¬ 
sequences which must attend their amour, if Mr. All¬ 
worthy, who had strictly forbidden him ever seeing her 
more, should discover that he still carried on this commerce. 
Such a discovery, which his enemies gave him reason to 
think would be unavoidable, must, he said, end in his ruin, 
and consequently in hers. Since therefore their hard fates 
had determined that they must separate, he advised her to 



225 


TOM JONES: A FOUND LINO. 

bear it with resolution, and swore lie would never omit any 
opportunity, through the course of his life, of showing her 
the sincerity of his affection, by providing for her in a man¬ 
ner beyond her utmost expectation, or even beyond her 
wishes, if ever that should be in his power, concluding at 
last that she might soon find some man who would marry 
her, and who would make her much happier than she could 
i be by leading a disreputable life with him. 

Molly remained a few moments in silence, and then, burst - 
1 ing into a flood of tears, she began to upbraid him in the 
following words : “ And this is your love for me, to forsake 
me in this manner, now you have ruined me ! How often, 
when I have told you that all men are false and perjury 
like, and grow tired of us as soon as ever they have had 
their winked wills of us, how often have you sworn you 
1 would never forsake me ! And can you be such a perjury 
man after all ? What signifies all the riches in the world to 
me without you, now you have gained my heart, so you 
have—you have— ? Why do you mention another man to 
me ? lean never love any other man as long as I live. All 
other men are nothing to me. If. the greatest squire in all 
the country would come a suiting to me to-morrow, I would 
not give my company to him. No, I shall always hate and 

despise the whole sex for your sake-” 

She was proceeding thus when an accident put a stop to 
her ton true before it had run out half its career. The 

O 

room, or rather garret, in which Molly lay, being up one 
pair of stairs, that is to say, at the top of the house, was of 
a sloping figure, resembling the great Delta of the Greeks. 
The English reader may perhaps form a better idea of it 
by being told that it was impossible to stand upright any¬ 
where but in the middle. Now, as this room wanted the 
conveniency of a closet, Molly had, to supply that defect, 
nailed up an old rug against the rafters of the house, which 
enclosed a little hole where her best apparel, such as the 








226 


THE IIISTOE Y OF 


remains of that sack which we have formerly mentioned, 
some caps, and other things with which she had lately pro¬ 
vided herself, were lmng up and secured from the dust. 

This enclosed place exactly fronted the foot of the hed, 
to which, indeed, the rug hung so near that it served in a 
manner to supply the want of curtains. Now, whether 
Molly, in the agonies of her rage, pushed this rug with her 
feet, or Jones might touch it, or whether the pin or nail 
gave way of its own accord, I am not certain ; but as Molly 
pronounced those last words, which are recorded above, the 
wicked rug got loose from its fastening, and discovered 
everything hid behind it ; where among other female uten¬ 
sils appeared—(with shame I write it, and with sorrow will 
it be read)—the philosopher Square, in a posture (for the 
place would not near admit his standing upright) as ridicu¬ 
lous as can possibly be conceived. 

The posture, indeed, in which he stood, was not greatly 
unlike that of a soldier who is tied neck and heels ; or 
rather resembling the attitude in which we often see fellows 
in the public streets of London, who are not suffering but 
deserving punishment by so standing. lie had a nightcap 
belonging to Molly on his head, and his two large eyes, the 
moment the rug fell, stared directly at Jones ; so that when 
the idea of philosophy was added to the figure now discov¬ 
ered, it would have been very difficult for any spectator to 
have refrained from immoderate laughter. 

I question not but the surprise of the reader will be here 
equal to that of Jones ; as the suspicions which must arise from 
the appearance of this wise and grave man in such a place 
may seem so inconsistent with that character which he hath, 
doubtless, maintained hitherto in the opinion of every one. 
But to confess the truth, this inconsistency is rather imag¬ 
inary than real. Philosophers are composed of flesh and 
blood as well as other human creatures ; and however subli¬ 
mated and refined the theory of these may be, a little prac- 


227 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

fcical frailty is as incident to them as to other mortals. It 
is, indeed, in theory only, and not in practice, as we have 
before hinted, that consists the difference : for though such 
great beings think much better and more wisely, they always 
act exactly like other men. They know very well how to 
subdue all appetites and passions, and to despise both pain 
and pleasure ; and this knowledge affords much delightful 
contemplation, and is easily acquired ; but the practice 
would be vexatious and troublesome ; and, therefore, the 
same wisdom which teaches them to know this teaches 
them to avoid carrying it into execution. 

Mr. Square happened to be at church on that Sunday 
when, as the reader may be pleased to remember, the ap¬ 
pearance of Molly in her sack had caused all that disturb¬ 
ance. Here he first observed her, and was so pleased with 
her beauty that he prevailed with the young gentlemen to 
change their intended ride that evening, that he might pass 
by the habitation of Molly, and by that means might obtain 
a second chance of seeing her. This reason, however, as lie 
did not at that time mention to any, so neither did we think 
proper to communicate it then to the reader. 

Among other particulars which constituted the unfitness 
of things in Mr. Square’s opinion, danger and difficulty 
were two. The difficulty, therefore, which he apprehended 
there might be in corrupting this young wench, and the 
danger which would accrue to his character on the discovery, 
were such strong dissuasives that it is probable he at first 
intended to have contented himself with the pleasing ideas 
which the sight of beauty furnishes us with. These the 
gravest men, after a full meal of serious meditation, often 
allow themselves by way of dessert, for which purpose 
certain books and pictures find their way into the most 
private recesses of their study, and a certain liquorish part 
of natural philosophy is often the principal subject of their 
conversation. 








228 


THE HISTORY OF 


But when the philosopher heard, a day or two after 
wards, that the fortress of virtue had already been subduecl 
he began to give a larger scope to his desires. Ilis appe¬ 
tite was not of that squeamish kind which cannot feed on a 
dainty because another hath tasted it. In short, he liked 
the girl the better for the want of that chastity which, if 
she had possessed it, must have been a bar to his pleasures : 
he pursued and obtained her. 

The reader will be mistaken if he thinks Molly gave 
Square the preference to her younger lover : on the con¬ 
trary, had she been confined to the choice of one only, Tom 
Jones would undoubtedly have been, of the two, the victo¬ 
rious person. Nor was it solely the consideration that two 
are better than one (though this had its proper weight) to 
which Mr. Square owed his success ; the absence of Jones 
during his confinement was an unlucky circumstance ; and 
in that interval some well-chosen presents from the phi¬ 
losopher so softened and unguarded the girl’s heart that a 
favorable opportunity became irresistible, and Square tri¬ 
umphed over the poor remains of virtue which subsisted in 
the bosom of Molly. 

It was now about a fortnight since this conquest, when 
Jones paid the above-mentioned visit to his mistress, at a 
time when she and Square were in bed together. This was 
the true reason why the mother denied her as we have 
seen ; for as the old woman shared in the profits arising 
from the iniquity of her daughter, she encouraged and pro¬ 
tected her in it to the utmost of her power ; but such was 
the envy and hatred which the elder sister bore towards 
Molly, that, notwithstanding she had some part of the 
booty, she would willingly have parted with this to ruin 
her sister and spoil her trade. Hence she had acquainted 
Jones with her being above-stairs in bed, in hopes that he 
might have caught her in Square’s arms. This, however. 
Molly found means to prevent, as the door was fastened, 



SQUARE DISCOVERED IN MOLLV SEAGUM’S APARTMENT. 














































TOM JONES: A FO END LING. 


229 


which gave her an opportunity of conveying her lover be- 
hind that rug or blanket where he now was unhappily dis¬ 
covered. 

Square no sooner made his appearance than Molly flung 
herself back in her bed, cried out she was undone, and 
abandoned herself to despair. This poor girl, who was yet 
but a novice in her business, had not arrived to that per¬ 
fection of assurance which helps off a town lady in any ex¬ 
tremity ; and either prompts her with an excuse, or else 
inspires her to brazen out the matter with her husband, 
who, from love of quiet, or out of fear of his reputation— 
and sometimes, perhaps, from fear of the gallant, who, like 
Mr. Constant in the play, wears a sword—is glad to shut 
his eyes, and content to put his horns in his pocket. 
Molly, on the contrary, was silenced by this evidence, and 
very fairly gave up a cause which she had hitherto main¬ 
tained with so many tears, and with such solemn and vehe¬ 
ment protestations of the purest love and constancy. 

As to the gentleman behind the arras, he was not in 
much less consternation. He stood for a while motionless, 
and seemed equally at a loss what to say, or whither to di¬ 
rect his eyes. Jones, though perhaps the most astonished 
of the three, first found his tongue ; and being immedi¬ 
ately recovered from those uneasy sensations which Molly 
by her upbraidings had occasioned, he burst into a loud 
laughter, and then saluting Mr. Square, advanced to take 
him by the hand, and to relieve him from his place of con¬ 
finement. 

Square, being now arrived in the middle of the room, in 
which part only he could stand upright, looked at Jones 
with a very grave countenance, and said to him, u Well, 
sir, I see you enjoy this mighty discovery, and, I dare 
swear, take great delight in the thoughts of exposing me ; 
but if you will consider the matter fairly, you will find you 
are yourself only to blame. I am not guilty of corrupting 



230 


THE HIS TO R Y OF 


innocence. I have done nothing for which that part of the 
world which judges of matters by the rule of right will 
condemn me. Fitness is governed by the nature of things, 
and not by customs, forms, or municipal laws. Nothing is 
indeed unfit which is not unnatural. ” “ Well reasoned, 

old boy,” answered Jones but why dost thou think 
that I should desire to expose thee ? I promise thee I was 
never better pleased with thee in my life ; and unless thou 
hast a mind to discover it thyself, this affair may remain a 
profound secret for me.” “ Nay, Mr. Jones,” replied 
Scpiare, “ I would not be thought to undervalue reputation. 
Good fame is a species of the Kalon, and it is by no means 
fitting to neglect it. Besides, to murder one’s own repu¬ 
tation is a kind of suicide, a detestable and odious vice. 
If you think proper, therefore, to conceal any infirmity of 
mine (for such I may have, since no man is perfectly per¬ 
fect), 1 promise you I will not betray myself. Things may 
be fitting to be done which are not fitting to be boasted of ; 
for by the perverse judgment of the world, that often be¬ 
comes the subject of censure, which is, in truth, not only 
innocent but laudable.” u Bight !” cries Jones : u what 
can be more innocent than the indulgence of a natural ap¬ 
petite ? or what more laudable than the propagation of our 
species?” “ To be serious with you,” answered Square, 
“ I profess they always appeared so to me.” “ And yet,” 
said Jones, “ you was of a different opinion when my affair 
with this girl was first discovered.” “ Why, I must con¬ 
fess,” says Square, “ as the matter was misrepresented to 
me, by that parson Thwackum, I might condemn the cor¬ 
ruption of innocence : it was that, sir, it was that—and 
that : for you must know, Mr. Jones, in the consideration 
of fitness, very minute circumstances, sir, very minute cir¬ 
cumstances cause great alteration.” “ Well,” cries Jones, 
“ be that as it will, it shall be your own fault, as I have 
promised you, if you ever hear any more of this adventure. 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


231 


Behave kindly to the girl, and 1 will never open my lips 
concerning the matter to any one. And, Molly, do you be 
faithful to your friend, and I will not only forgive your in¬ 
fidelity to me, but will do you all the service I can.” So 
saying, he took a hasty leave, and slipping down the ladder, 
retired with much expedition. 

Square was rejoiced to find this adventure was likely to 
have no worse conclusions ; and as for Molly, being re¬ 
covered from her confusion, she began at first to upbraid 
Square with having been the occasion of her loss of Jones ; 
but that gentleman soon found the means of mitigating her 
anger, partly by caresses, and partly by a small nostrum 
from his purse, of wonderful and approved efficacy in purg¬ 
ing off the ill humors of the mind, and in restoring it to a 
good temper. 

She then poured forth a vast profusion of tenderness 
towards her new lover ; turned all she had said to Jones, 
and Jones himself, into ridicule ; and vowed, though he 
once had the possession of her person, that none but Square 
had ever been master of her heart. 

CHAPTER YI. 

BY COMPARING WHICH WITH THE FORMER, THE READER MAY 

POSSIBLY CORRECT SOME ABUSE WHICH IIE HATH FORMERLY 

BEEN GUILTY OF IN THE APPLICATION OF THE WORD LOVE. 

The infidelity of Molly, which Jones had now discovered, 
would, perhaps, have vindicated a much greater degree of 
resentment than he expressed on the occasion ; and if he 
had abandoned her directly from that moment, very few, 
I believe, would have blamed him. 

Certain, however, it is, that he saw her in the light of 
compassion ; and though his love to her was not of that 
kind which could give him any great uneasiness at her 



232 


THE III ST OR Y OF 


inconstancy, yet was lie not a little shocked on reflecting 
that he had himself originally corrupted her innocence ; 
for to this corruption he imputed all the vice into which 
she appeared now so likely to plunge herself. 

This consideration gave him no little uneasiness, till 
Betty, the elder sister, was so kind, some time afterwards, 
entirely to cure him by a hint, that one Will Barnes, and 
not himself, had been the first seducer of Molly ; and that 
the little child, which he had hitherto so certainly concluded 
to he his own, might very probably have an equal title, at 
least, to claim Barnes for its father. 

Jones eagerly pursued this scent when he had first re¬ 
ceived it ; and in a very short time was sufficiently assured 
that the girl had told him truth, not only by the confession 
of the fellow, but at last by that of Molly herself. 

This Will Barnes was a country gallant, and had acquired 
as many trophies of this kind as any ensign or attorney’s 
clerk in the kingdom. He had, indeed, reduced several 
women to a state of utter profligacy, had broke the hearts of 
some, and had the honor of occasioning the violent death 
of one poor girl, who had either drowned herself, or, what 
was rather more probable, had been drowned by him. 

Among other of his conquests, this fellow had triumphed 
over the heart of Betty Seagrim. He had made love to her 
long before Molly was grown to be a fit object of that pas¬ 
time ; but had afterwards deserted her, and applied to her 
sister, with whom he had almost immediate success. How 
Will had, in reality, the sole possession of Molly’s affection, 
while Jones and Square were almost equally sacrifices to 
her interest and to her pride. 

Hence had grown that implacable hatred which we have 
before seen raging in the mind of Betty ; though we-did 
not think it necessary to assign this cause sooner, as envj 
itself alone was adequate to all the effects we have men¬ 
tioned. 


233 


TOM JOKES: A FOUNDLING . 

Jones was become perfectly easy by possession of this 
secret with regard to Molly ; but as to Sophia, he was far 
from being in a state of tranquillity ; nay, indeed, he was 
under the most violent perturbation ; -his heart was now, if 
I may use the metaphor, entirely evacuated, and Sophia 
took absolute possession of it. He loved her with an un¬ 
bounded passion, and plainly saw the tender sentiments she 
had for him ; yet could not this assurance lessen his despair 
of obtaining the consent of her father, nor the horrors 
which attended his pursuit of her by any base or treacher¬ 
ous method. 

The injury which he must thus do to Mr. Western 
and the concern which would accrue to Mr. Allworthy, 
were circumstances that tormented him ail day, and haunted 
him on his pillow at night. His life was a constant strug¬ 
gle between honor and inclination, which alternately tri 
uni plied over each other in his mind. He often resolved, 
in the absence of Sophia, to leave her father’s house, and 
see her no more ; and as often, in her presence, forgot all 
those resolutions, and determined to pursue her at the 
hazard of his life, and at the forfeiture of what was much 
dearer to him. 

This conflict began soon to produce very strong and visi¬ 
ble effects ; for he lost all his usual sprightliness and gayety 
of temper, and became not only melancholy when alone, 
but dejected and absent in company ; nay, if ever he put 
on a forced mirth, to comply with Mr. Western’s humor, 
the constraint appeared so plain that he seemed to have 
been giving the strongest evidence of what he endeavored 
to conceal by such ostentation. 

It may, perhaps, be a question whether the art which he 
used to conceal his passion, or the means which honest 
nature employed to reveal it, betrayed him most ; for while 
art made him more than ever reserved to Sophia, and forbade 











234 


THE HISTORY OF 

\ _ 

him to address any of his discourse to her, nay, to avoid meet¬ 
ing her eyes with the utmost caution, nature was no less busy 
in counterplotting him. Hence, at the approach of the 
young lady he grew pale ; and if this was sudden, started. 
If his eyes accidentally met hers, the blood rushed into his 
cheeks, and his countenance became all over scarlet. If 
common civility ever obliged him to speak to her, as to 
drink her health at table, his tongue was sure to falter. If 
he touched her, his hand, nay his whole frame, trembled. 
And if any discourse tended, however remotely, to raise the 
idea of love, an involuntary sigh seldom failed to steal from 
his bosom. Most of which accidents nature was wonder¬ 
fully industrious to throw daily in his way. 

All these symptoms escaped the notice of the squire ; but 
not so of Sophia. She soon perceived these agitations of 
mind in Jones, and was at no loss to discover the cause, 
for indeed she recognized it in her own breast. And this 
recognition is, I suppose, that sympathy which hath been 
so often noted in lovers, and which will sufficiently account 
for her being so much quicker-sighted than her father. 

But, to say the truth, there is a more simple and plain 
method of accounting for that prodigious superiority of 
penetration which we must observe in some men over the 
rest of the human species, and one which will serve not 
only in the case of lovers, but of all others. From whence is . 
it that the knave is generally so quick-sighted to those symp¬ 
toms and operations of knavery, which often dupe an hon¬ 
est man of much better understanding ? There surely is 
no general sympathy among knaves ; nor have they, like 
freemasons, any common sign of communication. In 
reality, it is only because they have the same thing in their 
heads, and their thoughts are turned the same way. Thus, 
that Sophia saw, and that Western did not see, the plain 
symptoms of love in Jones can be no wonder, when we con* 












TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


235 


sider that the idea of love never entered into the head of 
the father, whereas the daughter, at present, thought of 
nothing else. 

W1 len Sophia was well satisfied of the violent passion 
which tormented poor Jones, and no less certain that she 
herself was its object, she had not the least difficulty in dis¬ 
covering the true cause of his present behavior. This 
highly endeared him to her, and raised in her mind two of 
the best affections which any lover can wish to raise in a 
mistress—these were, esteem and pity—for sure the most 
outrageously rigid among her sex will excuse her pitying a 
man whom she saw miserable on her own account ; nor can 
they blame her for esteeming one who visibly, from the 
most honorable motives, endeavored to smother a flame in 
his own bosom, which, like the famous Spartan theft, was 
preying upon and consuming his very vitals. Tlius his 
backwardness, his shunning her, his coldness, and his 
silence, were the forwardest, the most diligent, the warm¬ 
est, and most eloquent advocates ; and wrought so violently 
on her sensible and tender heart that she soon felt for him 
all those gentle sensations which are consistent with a virtu¬ 
ous and elevated female mind. Tn short, all which esteem, 
gratitude, and pity, can inspire in such towards an agree¬ 
able man—indeed, all which the nicest delicacy can allow. 
In a word, she was in love with him to distraction. 

One day this young couple accidentally met in the gar¬ 
den, at the end of the two walks which were both bounded 
by that canal in which Jones had formerly risked drowning 
to retrieve the little bird that Sophia had there lost. 

This place had been of late much frequented by Sophia. 
Here she used to ruminate, with a mixture of pain and 
pleasure, on an incident which, however trifling in itself, 
had possibly sown the first seeds of that affection which was 
now arrived to such maturity in her heart. 

Here, then, this young couple met. They were almost 





236 


THE HISTORY OR 


close together before either of them knew anything of the 
other’s approach. A bystander would have discovered 
sufficient marks of confusion in the countenance of each, 
but they felt too much themselves to make any observation. 
As soon as Jones had a little recovered his first surprise, he 
accosted the young lady with some of the ordinary forms of 
salutation, which she in the same manner returned ; and 
their conversation began, as usual, on the delicious beauty 
of the morning. Hence they passed to the beauty of the 
place, on which Jones launched forth very high encomiums. 
When they came to the tree whence he had formerly 
tumbled into the canal, Sophia could not help reminding 
him of that accident, and said, “ I fancy, Mr. Jones, you 
have some little shuddering when you see that water.” 
“ I assure you, madam,” answered Jones, u the concern 
you felt at the loss of your little bird will always appear to 
me the highest circumstance in that adventure. Poor little 
Tommy ! there is the branch he stood upon. How could 
the little wretch have the folly to fly away from that state 
of happiness in which I had the honor to place him ? His 
fate was a just punishment for his ingratitude.” u Upon 
my word, Mr. Jones,” said she, “ your gallantry very 
narrowly escaped as severe a fate. Sure the remembrance 
must affect you.” “ Indeed, madam,” answered he, “ if 
I have any reason to reflect with sorrow on it, it is, per¬ 
haps, that the water had not been a little deeper, by which 
I might have escaped many bitter heart-aclies that Fortune 
seems to have in store for me.” “ Fie, Mr. Jones !” re¬ 
plied Sophia, u I am sure you cannot be in earnest now. 
This affected contempt of life is only an excess of your com¬ 
placence to me. You would endeavor to lessen the obliga¬ 
tion of having twice ventured it for my sake. Beware the 
third time.” She spoke these last words with a smile, and 
a softness inexpressible. Jones answered with a sigh, “ He 
feared it was already too late for caution ;” and then look' 





TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING, 


237 


ing tenderly and steadfastly on her, he cried, “ Oh, Miss 
Western ! can yon desire me to live ? Can yon wish me so 
ill ?” Sophia, looking down on the ground, answered with 
some hesitation, “ Indeed, Mr. Jones, I do not wish you 
ill.” I know too well that heavenly temper,” cries 
Jones, “ that divine goodness, which is beyond every other 
charm.” “ Nay, now,” answered she, “ I understand you 
not. I can stay no longer. ” ‘ ‘ I—I would not be under¬ 

stood !” cries he ; “ nay, I can’t be understood. I know 
not what I say. Meeting you here so unexpectedly, I have 
been unguarded : for heaven’s sake pardon me if I have 
said anything to offend you. I did not mean it. Indeed, I 
would rather have died—nay, the very thought would kill 
me.” “ You surprise me,” answered she. “ How can 
you possibly think you have offended me ?” i( Fear, 
madam,” says he, “ easily runs into madness ; and there is 
no degree of fear like that which I feel of offending you. 
IIow can I speak then ? Nay, don’t look angrily at me : 
one frown will destroy me. I mean nothing. Blame my 
eyes, or blame those beauties. What am I saying ? Par¬ 
don me if I have said too much. My heart overflowed. I 
have struggled with my love to the utmost, and have en¬ 
deavored to conceal a fever which preys on my vitals, and 
will, I hope, soon make it impossible for me ever to offend 
you more. ’ ’ 

Mr. Jones now fell a trembling as if he had been shaken 
with the fit of an ague. Sophia, who was in a situation not 
very different from his, answered in these words : u Mr. 
Jones, I will not affect to misunderstand you ; indeed, I un¬ 
derstand you too well ; but, for heaven’s sake, if you have 
any affection for me, let me make the best of my way into 
the house. I wish I may be able to support myself 
thither.” 

Jones, who was hardly able to support himself, offered 
her his arm, which she condescended to accept, but begged 




238 


THE III ST OR Y OF 

lie would not mention a word more to her of this nature at 
present. He promised he would not, insisting only on her 
forgiveness of what love, without the leave of his will, had 
forced from him : this, she told him, he knew how to ob¬ 
tain by his future behavior ; and thus this young pair tot¬ 
tered and trembled along, the lover not once daring to 
squeeze the hand of his mistress, though it was locked in 
his. 

Sophia immediately retired to her chamber, where Mrs. 
Honour and the hartshorn were summoned to her assistance. 
As to poor Jones, the only relief to his distempered mind 
was an unwelcome piece of news, which, as it opens a scene 
of different nature from those in which the reader hath 
lately been conversant, will be communicated to him in the 
next chapter. 


CHAPTER VII. 

IN WHICH MR. ALL WORTHY APPEARS ON A SICK BED. 


Mr. Western was become so fond of Jones that he was 
unwilling to part with him, though his arm had been long 
since cured ; and Jones, either from the love of sport, or 
from some other reason, was easily persuaded to continue at 
his house, which he did sometimes for a fortnight together 
without paying a single visit at Mr. Allworthy’s ; nay, 
without ever hearing from thence. 

Mr. Allworthy had been for some days indisposed with a 
cold, which had been attended with a little fever. This lie 
had, however, neglected ; as it was usual with him to do 
all manner of disorders which did not confine him to his bed, 
or prevent his several faculties from performing their ordi¬ 
nary functions—a conduct which we would by no means be 
thought to approve or recommend to imitation ; for surely 












TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


239 



the gentlemen of the JEscul apian art are in the right in ad¬ 
vising that the moment the disease has entered at one 
door the physician should be introduced at the other : 
what else is meant by that old adage, Yenienti occurrite 
morbof “ Oppose a distemper at its first approach. 
Thus the doctor and the disease meet in fair and equal con¬ 
flict ; whereas, by giving time to the latter, we often suffer 
him to fortify and intrench himself, like a French army ; 
so that the learned gentleman finds it very difficult, and 
sometimes impossible, to come at the enemy. Nay, some¬ 
times by gaining time the disease applies to the French mili¬ 
tary politics, and corrupts nature over to his side, and then 
all the powers of physic must arrive too late. Agreeable to 
these observations was, I remember, the complaint of the 
great Doctor Misaubin, who used very pathetically to la¬ 
ment the late applications which were made to his skill, say¬ 
ing, “ By gar, me believe my pation take me for under¬ 
taker, for dey never send for me till de physicion have kill 
dem. ’ ’ 

Mr. All worthy’s distemper, by means of this neglect, 
gained such ground that, when the increase of his fever 
obliged him to send for assistance, the doctor at his first ar¬ 
rival shook his head, wished he had been sent for sooner, and 
intimated that he thought him in very imminent danger. 
Mr. Allworthy, who had settled all his affairs in this world, 
and was as well prepared as it is possible for human nature 
to be for the other, received this information with the ut¬ 
most calmness and unconcern. He could, indeed, when¬ 
ever he laid himself down to rest, say with Cato in the trag¬ 
ical poem— 

Let guilt or fear 

Disturb man’s rest; Cato knows neither of them ; 

Indifferent in his choice to sleep or die. 


In reality, he could say this with ten times more reason and 
confidence than Cato, or any other proud fellow among the 







240 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


ancient or modern heroes ; for he was not only devoid ol 
fear, bnt might he considered as a faithful laborer, when at 
the end of harvest he is summoned to receive his reward at 
the hands of a bountiful master. 

The good man gave immediate orders for all his family 
to he summoned round him. None of these were then 
abroad, but Mrs. Blifil, who had been some time in Lon¬ 
don, and Mr. Jones, whom the reader hath just parted from 
at Mr. Western’s, and who received this summons just as 
Sophia had left him. 

The news of Mr. Allworthy’s danger (for the servant 
told him he was dying) drove all thoughts of love out of his 
head. He hurried instantly into the chariot which was 
sent for him, and ordered the coachman to drive with all 
imaginable haste ; nor did the idea of Sophia, I believe, 
once occur to him on the way. 

And now the whole family, namely, Mr. Blifil, Mr. 
Jones, Mr. Thwackum, Mr. Square, and some of the ser¬ 
vants (for such were Mr. Allworthy’s orders) being all as¬ 
sembled round his bed, the good man sat up in it, and was 
beginning to speak, when Blifil fell to blubbering, and be¬ 
gan to express very loud and bitter lamentations. Upon 
this Mr. Allworthy shook him by the hand, and said, u Do 
not sorrow thus, my dear nephew, at the most ordinary 
of all human occurrences. When misfortunes befall our 
friends we are justly grieved ; for those are accidents which 
might often have been avoided, and which may seem to ren¬ 
der the lot of one man more peculiarly unhappy than that 
of others ; but death is certainly unavoidable, and is that 
common lot in which alone the fortunes of all men agree : 
nor is the time when this happens to us very material. If 
the wisest of men hath compared life to a span, surely we 
may be allowed to consider it as a day. It is my fate to 
leave it in the evening ; but those who are taken away ear¬ 
lier have only lost a few hours, at' the best little worth la- 




TOM JOKES: A FO UKDLTKG. 


241 


meriting, and much oftener hours of labor and fatigue, of 
pain and sorrow. One of the Homan poets, I remember, 
likens our leaving life to our departure from a feast—a 
thought which hath often occurred to me when I have seen 
men struggling to protract an entertainment, and to enjoy 
the company of their friends a few moments longer. 
Alas ! how short is the most protracted of such enjoy¬ 
ments ! how immaterial the difference between him who re¬ 
tires the soonest, and him who stays the latest ! This is 
seeing life in the best view, and this unwillingness to quit 
« our friends is the most amiable motive from which we can 
i derive the fear of death ; and yet the longest enjoyment 
which we can hope for of this kind is of so trivial a dura¬ 
tion that it is to a wise man truly contemptible. Few 
men, I own, think in this manner ; for, indeed, few men 
think of death till they are in its jaws. However gigantic 
and terrible an object this may appear when it approaches 
them, they are nevertheless incapable of seeing it at any dis¬ 
tance ; nay, though they have been ever so much alarmed 
and frightened when they have apprehended themselves in 
danger of dying, they are no sooner cleared from this ap- . 
prehension than even the fears of it are erased from their 
minds. But, alas ! lie who escapes from death is not par¬ 
doned ; he is only reprieved, and reprieved to a short day. 

“ Grieve, therefore, no more, my dear child, on this oc¬ 
casion, an event which may happen every hour ; which 
every element, nay, almost every particle of matter that 
| surrounds us is capable of producing, and which must and 
will most unavoidably reach us all at last, ought neither to 
f occasion our surprise nor our lamentation. 

“ My physician having acquainted me (which I take very 
kindly of him) that I am in danger of leaving you all very 
shortly, I have determined to say a few words to you at 
this our parting, before my distemper, which I find grows 
very fast upon me, puts it out of my power. 







242 


THE HIST On Y OF 


“ But I shall waste my strength too much. I intended 
to speak concerning my will, which, though I have settled 
long ago, I think proper to mention such heads of it as con¬ 
cern any of you, that I may have the comfort of perceiving 
you are all satisfied with the provision I have there made 
for you. 

“ Nephew Blifil, I leave you the heir to my whole es 
tate, except only £500 a year, which is to revert to you 
after the death of your mother, and except one other estate 
of £500 a year, and the sum of £6000, which I have be¬ 
stowed in the following manner : 

“ The estate of £500 a year I have given to you, Mr. 
Jones ; and as I know the inconvenience which attends the 
want of ready money, I have added £1000 in specie. In 
this I know not whether I have exceeded or fallen short of 
your expectation. Perhaps you will think I have given you 
too little, and the world will be as ready to condemn me for 
giving you too much ; but the latter censure I despise ; and 
as to the former, unless you should entertain that common 
error which I have often heard in my life pleaded as an ex¬ 
cuse for a total want of charity, namely, that instead of 
raising gratitude by voluntary acts of bounty, we are apt to 
raise demands, which of all others are the most boundless 
and most difficult to satisfy. Pardon me the bare mention 
of this ; I will not suspect any such thing.” 

Jones flung himself at his benefactor’s feet, and, taking 
eagerly hold of his hand, assured him his goodness to him, 
botli now and all other times, had so infinitely exceeded 
not only his merit but his - hopes, that no words could ex¬ 
press his sense of it. “ And I assure you, sir,” said he, 

‘ ‘ your present generosity hath left me no other concern 
than for the present melancholy occasion. Oh, my friend 
my father !” Here his words choked him, and he turned 
away to hide a tear which was starting from his eyes. 

Allworthy then gently squeezed his hand, and proceeded 




TOM JONES: A FOUNT)LINO. 


243 


tlms : u I am convinced, my child, that you have much 
goodness, generosity, and honor in your temper ; if you 
will add prudence and religion to these, you must be 
happy, for the three former qualities, I admit, make you 
worthy of happiness, but they are the latter only which 
will put you in possession of it. 

u One thousand pound T have given to you, Mr. 
Thwackum, a sum I am convinced which greatly exceeds 
your desires, as well as your wants. However, you will 
receive it as a memorial of my friendship ; and whatever 
superfluities may redound to you, that piety which you so 
rigidly maintain will instruct you how to dispose of them. 

“ A like sum, Mr. Square, I have bequeathed to you. 
This, I hope, will enable you to pursue your profession 
with better success than hitherto. I have often observed 
with concern that distress is more apt to excite contempt 
than commiseration, especially among men of business, 
with whom poverty is understood to indicate want of abil¬ 
ity. But the little I have been able to leave you will ex¬ 
tricate you from those difficulties with which you have for¬ 
merly struggled ; and then I doubt not but you will meet 
with sufficient prosperity to supjfly what a man of your 
philosophical temper will require. 

“ I find myself growing faint, so I shall refer you to my 
will for my disposition of the residue. My servants will 
there find some tokens to remember me by ; and there are 
a few charities which, I trust, my executors will see faith¬ 
fully performed. Bless you all. I am setting out a little 
before you.” 

Here a footman came hastily into the room, and said 
there was an attorney from Salisbury who had a particular 
message, which he said he must communicate to Mr. All- 
worthy himself ; that he seemed in a violent hurry, and pro¬ 
tested he had so much business to do that if he could cut 
himself into four quarters, all would not be sufficient.. 






244 


THE HISTORY OF 


“Go, child,” said Allworthy to Blifil, u see what the 
gentleman wants. I am not able to do any business now, 
nor can he have any with me, in which you are not at pres¬ 
ent more concerned than myself. Besides, I really am—1 
am incapable of seeing any one at present, or of any longer 
attention.” He then saluted them all, saying, perhaps he 
should be able to see them again, but he should be now glad 
to compose himself a little, finding that he had too much 
exhausted his spirits in discourse. 

Some of the company shed tears at their parting ; and 
even the philosopher Square wiped his eyes, albeit unused 
to the melting mood. As to Mrs. Wilkins, she dropped her 
pearls as fast as the Arabian trees their medicinal gums ; for 
this was a ceremonial which that gentlewoman never 
omitted on a proper occasion. 

After this Mr. Allworthy again laid himself down on his 
pillow, and endeavored to compose himself to rest. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

CONTAINING MATTER RATHER NATURAL THAN PLEASING. 

Besides grief for her master, there was another source 
for that briny stream which so plentifully rose above the 
two mountainous cheek-bones of the housekeeper. She was 
no sooner retired than she began to mutter to herself in 
the following pleasant strain : “ Sure master might have 
made some difference, methinks, between me and the other 
servants. I suppose he hath left me mourning ; but, 
i’fackins ! if that be all, the devil shall wear it for him, for 
me. I’d have his worhsip know I am no beggar. I have 
saved five hundred pound in his service, and after all to be 
used in this manner. It is a fine encouragement to servants 
to be honest; and to be sure, if I have taken a little some- 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


245 


tiling now and then, others have taken ten times as much • 
and now we are all put in a lump together. If so he that 
it be so, the legacy may go to the devil with him that gave 
it. No, I won’t give it up neither, because that will please 
some folks. No, I’ll buy the gayest gown I can get, and 
dance over the old curmudgeon’s grave in it. This is my 
reward for taking his part so often, when all the country 
have cried shame of him, for breeding up his bastard in 
that manner ; but he is going now where lie must pay for 
all. It would have become him better to. have repented 
of his sins on his death-bed than to glory in them, and 
give aw T ay his estate out of his own family to a misbegotten 
child. Found in his bed, forsooth ! a pretty story ! ay, ay, 
those that hide know where to find. Lord forgive him ! 
I warrant he hath many more bastards to answer for, if the 
truth was known. One comfort is, they will all be known 
where he is a going now. “ The servants will find some 
token to remember me by.” Those were the very words ; 
I shall never forget them, if I was to live a thousand years. 
Ay, ay, I shall remember you for huddling me among the 
servants. One would have thought he might have men¬ 
tioned my name as well as that of Scjuare ; but he is a gen¬ 
tleman forsooth, though he had not clothes on his back 
when he came hither first. Marry come up with such gen¬ 
tlemen ! though he hath lived here this many years, I don’t 
believe there is arrow a servant in the house ever saw the 
color of his money. The devil shall wait upon such a gen 
tleman for me.” Much more of the like kind she mut¬ 
tered to herself ; but this taste shall suffice to the reader. 

Neither Thwackum nor Square were much better satisfied 
with their legacies. Though they breathed not their re¬ 
sentment so loud, yet from the discontent which appeared 
in their countenances, as well as from the following dia¬ 
logue, we collect that no great pleasure reigned in their 
minds. 








246 


THE HIST OR Y OF 

About an hour after they had left the sick room, Square 
met Thwackum in the hall and accosted him thus : u Well, 
sir, have you heard any news of your friend since we parted 
from him ?” “If you mean Mr. All worthy, ’’ answered 
Thwackum, “ I think you might rather give him the ap¬ 
pellation of your friend, for he seems to me to have de¬ 
served that title.” “ The title is as good on your side,” 
replied Square, “ for his bounty, such as it is, hath been 
equal to both.” “ I should not have mentioned it first,” 

cries Thwackum, “ but since you begin, I must inform 
you I am of a different opinion. There is a wide distinc¬ 
tion between voluntary favors and rewards. The duty I 
have done in his family, and the care 1 have taken in the 
education of his two boys, are services for which some men 
might have expected a greater return. I would not have 
you imagine I am therefore dissatisfied ; for St. Paul hath 
taught me to be content with the little I have. Had the 
modicum been less, I should have known my duty. But 
though the Scripture obliges me to remain contented, it 
doth not enjoin me to shut my eyes to my own merit, nor 
restrain me from seeing when I am injured by an unjust 
comparison.” “ Since you provoke me,” returned Square, 
“ that injury is done to me ; nor did I ever imagine Mr. 
Allworthy had held my friendship so light as to put me in 
balance with one who received his wages. I know to what 
it is owing ; it proceeds from those narrow principles which 
you have been so long endeavoring to infuse into him, in 
contempt of everything which is great and noble. The 
beauty and loveliness of friendship is too strong for dim eyes, 
nor can it be perceived by any other medium than that 
unerring rule of right which you have so often endeavored 
to ridicule, that you have perverted your friend’s under¬ 
standing.” “I wish,” cries Thwackum, in a rage, “I 
wish, for the sake of his soul, your damnable doctrines have 
not perverted his faith. It is to this I impute his present 


TOM J OWES: A FO UWDL TWO. 


247 


behavior, so unbecoming a Christian. Who but an atheist 
could think of leaving the world without having first made 
up his account ? without confessing his sins, and receiving 
that absolution which he knew he had one in the house 
duly authorized to give him ? He will feel the want of 
these necessaries when it is too late, when he is arrived at 
that place where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. It 
is then he will find in what mighty stead that heathen god¬ 
dess, that virtue, which you and all other deists of the age 
adore, will stand him. lie will then summon his priest, 
when there is none to be found, and will lament the want 
of that absolution without which no sinner can be safe.” 
“If it be so material,” says Square, “ why don’t you pre¬ 
sent it him of your own accord ?” “It hath no virtue,” 
cries Thwackum, “ but to those who have sufficient grace to 
require it. But why do I talk thus to a heathen and an un¬ 
believer ?” It is you that taught him this lesson, for which 
you have been well rewarded in this world, as I doubt not 
your disciple will soon be in the other.” “I know not 
what you mean by reward,” said Square, “ but if you hint 
at that pitiful memorial of our friendship, which he hath 
thought fit to bequeath me, I despise it ; and nothing but 
the unfortunate situation of my circumstances should pre¬ 
vail on me to accept it. ’ ’ 

The physician now arrived, and began to inquire of the 
two disputants how we all did above-stairs ? “ In a miser¬ 
able way,” answered Thwackum. “It is no more than I 
expected,” cries the doctor : “ but pray what symptoms 
have appeared since I left you ?” “No good ones, I am 
afraid,” replied Thwackum : after what passed at our depart¬ 
ure, I think there were little hopes. ” The bodily physi 
cian, perhaps, misunderstood the curer of souls ; and before 
they came to an explanation, Mr. Blifil came to them with 
a most melancholy countenance, and acquainted them that 
he brought sad news, that his mother was dead at Salis- 






248 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


bury , that she had been seized on the road home with the 
gout in her head and stomach, which had carried her off in 
a few hours. u Goodlack-a-day !” says the doctor. One 
cannot answer for events ; but I wish I had been at hand, 
to have been called in. The gout is a distemper which it is 
difficult to treat ; yet I have been remarkably successful in 
it.” Tliwackum and Square both condoled with Mr. Blifil 
for the loss of his mother, which the one advised him to 
bear like a man, and the other like a Christian. The young 
gentleman said he knew very well we were all mortal, and 
he would endeavor to submit to his loss as well as he 
could. That he could not, however, help complaining a 
little against the peculiar severity of his fate, which brought 
the news of so great a calamity to him by surprise, and that 
at a time when he hourly expected the severest blow he was 
capable of feeling from the malice of fortune. He said, 
the present occasion would put to the test those excellent 
rudiments which he had learnt from Mr. Tliwackum and 
Mr. Square ; and it would be entirely owing to them if 
he was enabled to survive such misfortunes. 

It was now debated whether Mr. Allworthv should be 

t/ 

informed of the death of his sister. This the doctor vio¬ 
lently opposed ; in which, I believe, the whole college 
would agree with him : but Mr. Blifil said he had received 
such positive and repeated orders from his uncle, never to 
keep any secret from him foqfear of the disquietude which 
it might give him, that he durst not think of disobedience, 
whatever might be the consequence. He said, for his 
part, considering the religious and philosophic temper of 
his uncle, he could not agree with the doctor in his appre¬ 
hensions. He was therefore resolved to communicate it to 
him ; for if his uncle recovered (as he heartily prayed he 
might), he knew he would never forgive an endeavor to 
keep a secret of this kind from him. 

The physician was forced to submit to these resolutions, 


TOM JONES ' A FOUNDLING. 


249 



which the two other learned gentlemen very highly com¬ 
mended. So together moved Mr. Blifil and the doctor to¬ 
wards the sick room, where the physician first entered, and 
approached the bed, in order to feel his patient’s pulse, 
which he had no sooner done than he declared he was much 
better ; that the last application had succeeded to a miracle, 
and had brought the fever to intermit : so that, he said, 
there appeared now to be as little danger as he had before 
apprehended there were hopes. 

To say the truth, Mr. All worthy’s situation had never 
been so bad as the great caution of the doctor had repre¬ 
sented it ; but as a wise general never despises his enemy, 
however inferior that enemy’s force may he, so neither doth 
a wise physician ever despise a distemper, however incon¬ 
siderable. As the former preserves the same strict disci¬ 
pline, places the same guards, and employs the same scouts, 
though the enemy be never so weak, so the latter main¬ 
tains the same gravity of countenance, and shakes his head 
with the same significant air, let the distemper he never so 
triflng. And both, among many other good ones, may as¬ 
sign this solid reason for their conduct, that by these means 
the greater glory redounds to them if they gain the victory, 
and the less disgrace if by any unlucky accident they should 
happen to be conquered. 

Mr. Allworthy had no sooner lifted up his eyes, and 
thanked heaven for these hopes of his recovery, than Mr. 
Blifil drew near, with very dejected aspect, and having 
applied his handkerchief to his eye, either to wipe away his 
tears, or to do as Ovid somewhere expresses himself on 
another occasion, 

Si nullus erit, taraen excute nullum , 

If there be none, then wipe away that none, 

he communicated to his uncle what the reader hath been 
just before acquainted with. 






250 


THE HISTORY OF 


Allworthy received the news with concern, with patience, 
and with resignation. He dropped a tender tear, then com 
posed his countenance, and at last cried, u The Lord’s will 
be done in everything.” 

He now inquired for the messenger, but Blifil told him 
it had been impossible to detain him a moment, for he ap¬ 
peared by the great hurry he was in to have some business 
of importance on his hands ; that he complained of being 
hurried and driven and torn out of his life, and repeated 
many times that if he could divide himself into four quar¬ 
ters he knew how to dispose of every one. 

Allworthy then desired Blifil to take care of the funeral. 
He said he would have his sister deposited in his own 
chapel; and as to the particulars, he left them to his own 
discretion, only mentioning the person whom he would 
have employed on this occasion, 


CHAPTER IX. 

WHICH, AMONG OTHER THINGS, MAY SERVE AS A COMMENT 
ON THAT SAYING OF ^SCHINES, THAT “ DRUNKENNESS 
SHOWS THE MIND OF A MAN, AS A MIRROR REFLECTS HIS 
PERSON.” 

The reader may perhaps wonder at hearing nothing of 
Mr. Jones in the last chapter. In fact, his behavior was so 
different from that of the persons there mentioned that we 
choose not to confound his name with theirs. 

When the good man had ended his speech, Jones was 
the last who deserted the room. Thence he retired to his 
own apartment, to give vent to his concern ; but the rest¬ 
lessness of his mind would not suffer him to remain long 
there ; he slipped softly therefore to Allworthy’s chamber- 
door, where he listened a considerable time without hear 


TOM JO AVIS: A FOUNDLING. 


251 


ing any kind of motion within, unless a violent snoring, 
which at last his fears misrepresented as groans. This so 
alarmed him that he could not forbear entering the room, 
where he found the good man in the bed, in a sweet com¬ 
posed sleep, and his nurse snoring in the above-mentioned 
hearty manner, at the bed’s feet. lie immediately took 
the only method of silencing this thorough bass, whose 
music he feared might disturb Mr. Allworthy ; and then 
sitting down by the nurse, he remained motionless till Blifil 
and the doctor came in together and waked the sick man, 
in order that the doctor might feel his pulse, and that the 
other might communicate to him that piece of news which, 
had Jones been apprised of it, would have had great diffi¬ 
culty of finding its way to Mr. Allworthy’s ear at such a 
season. 

When he first heard Blifil tell his uncle this story, Jones 
could hardly contain the wrath which kindled in him at the 
other’s indiscretion, especially as the doctor shook his head 
and declared his unwillingness to have the matter mentioned 
to his patient. But as his passion did not so far deprive 
him of all use of his understanding as to hide from him 
the consequences which any violent expression towards 
Blifil might have on the sick, this apprehension stilled his 
rage at the present ; and he grew afterwards so satisfied 
with finding that this news had, in fact, produced no mis¬ 
chief, that he suffered his anger to die in his own bosom, 
without ever mentioning it to Blifil. 

The physician dined that day at Mr. Allworthy’s ; and 
having after dinner visited his patient, he returned to the 
company, and told them that he had now the satisfaction 
to say, with assurance, that his patient was out of all 
danger : that he had brought his fever to a perfect inter¬ 
mission, and doubted not by throwing in the bark to pre¬ 
vent its return. 

This account so pleased Jones, and threw him into such 








252 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


immoderate excess of rapture, .that he might he truly said 
to he drunk with joy—an intoxication which greatly for¬ 
wards the effects of wine ; and as he was very free, too, with 
the hottle on this occasion (for he drank many bumpers to 
the doctor’s health, as well as to other toasts), he became 
very soon literally drunk. 

Jones had naturally violent animal spirits ; these being 
set on float and augmented by the spirit of wine, produced 
most extravagant effects. He kissed the doctor, and em¬ 
braced him with the most passionate endearments, swearing 
that, next to Mr. Allworthy himself, he loved him of all 
men living. “ Doctor,” added he, “ you deserve a statue 
to be erected to you at the public expense for having pre¬ 
served a man who is not only the darling of all good men 
who know him, but a blessing to society, the glory of his 
country, and an honor to human nature. D—n me if I | 
don’t love him better than my own soul.” 

“ More shame for you,” cries Thwackum. “ Though I 
think you have reason to love him, for he hath provided 
very well for you. And perhaps it might have been better 
for some folks that he had not lived to see just reason of 
revoking his gift.” 

Jones now looking on Thwackum with inconceivable dis¬ 
dain, answered, “ And doth thy mean soul imagine that 
any such considerations could weigh with me ? Ho, let the 
earth open and swallow her own dirt (if I had millions of 
acres I would say it) rather than swallow up my dear glo¬ 
rious friend.” 

Quis clesiderio sit pudor aut modus 
Tam chari capitis ? * 

The doctor now interposed, and prevented the effects of 

* “ What modesty or measure can set bounds to our desire ot so dear 
a friend ?” The word desiderium here cannot be easily translated. It 
includes our desire of enjoying our friend again, and the grief which 
attends that desire. 








TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 253 

a wrath which was kindling between Jones and Thwackum; 
after which the former gave a loose to mirth, sang two or 
three amorous songs, and fell into every frantic disorder 
which unbridled joy is apt to inspire; but so far was he 
from any disposition to quarrel that he was ten times better 
humored, if possible, than when he was sober. 

To say the truth, nothing is more erroneous than the 
common observation that men who are ill-natured and 
quarrelsome when they are drunk, are very worthy persons 
when they are sober : for drink, in reality, doth not reverse 
nature, or create passions in men which did not exist in 
them before. It takes away the guard of reason, and con¬ 
sequently forces us to produce those symptoms which many, 
when sober, have art enough to conceal. It heightens and 
inflames our passions (generally indeed that passion which 
is uppermost in our mind), so that the angry-tempered, the 
amorous, the generous, the good-humored, the avaricious, 
and all other dispositions of men, are in their cups height¬ 
ened and exposed. 

And yet as no nation produces so many drunken quar¬ 
rels, especially among the lower peojfle, as England (for im 
deed, with them, to drink and to fight together are almost 
synonymous terms), I would not, methinks, have it thence 
concluded that the English are the worst-natured people 
alive. Perhaps the love of glory only is at the bottom of 
this ; so that the fair conclusion seems to he that our coun¬ 
trymen have more of that love, and more of bravery, than 
any other plebeians. And this the rather, as there is sel¬ 
dom anything ungenerous, unfair, or ill-natured exercised 
on these occasions : nay, it is common for the combatants 
to express good-will for each other even at the time of the 
conflict ; and as their drunken mirth generally ends in a bat¬ 
tle, so do most of their battles end in friendship. 

But to return to our history. Though Jones had shown 
no design of giving offence, yet Mr. Blifil was highly 





254 


THE HISTORY OF 


offended at a behavior which was so inconsistent with the 
sober and prudent reserve of his own temper. He bore it 
too with the greater impatience, as it appeared to him very 
indecent at this season; “when,” as he said, “the house 
was a house of mourning, on the account of his dear mo¬ 
ther : and if it had pleased heaven to give him some pros¬ 
pect of Mr. Allworthy’s recovery, it would become them 
better to express the exultations of their hearts in thanks¬ 
giving than in drunkenness and riots; which were properer 
methods to increase the Divine wrath than to avert it.” 
Thwackum, who had swallowed more liquor than Jones, 
but without any ill effect on his brain, seconded the pious 
harangue of Blifil ; but Square, for reasons which the 
reader may probably guess, was totally silent. 

Wine had not so totally overpowered Jones as to pre¬ 
vent his recollecting Mr. Blifil’s loss the moment it was 
mentioned. As no person, therefore, was more ready to 
confess and condemn his own errors, he offered to shake 
Mr. Blifil by the hand, and begged his pardon, saying, 
“ nis excessive joy for Mr. Allworthy’s recovery had 
driven every other thought out of his mind.” 

Blifil scornfully rejected his hand, and with much indig¬ 
nation answered, “ It was little to be wondered at, if trag¬ 
ical spectacles made no impression on the blind ; but, for 
his part, he had the misfortune to know who his parents 
were, and consequently must be affected with their loss. ’ ’ 

Jones, who, notwithstanding his good humor, had some 
mixture of the irascible in his constitution, leaped hastily 
from his chair, and catching hold of Blifil’s collar, cried 
out, “ D—n you for a rascal, do you insult me with the 
misfortune of my birth ?” He accompanied these words 
with such rough actions that they soon got the better of 
Mr. Blifil’s peaceful temper ; and a scuffle immediately 
ensued, which might have produced mischief had it not 
been prevented by the interposition of Thwackum and the 






TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


255 


physician, for the philosophy of Square rendered him supe¬ 
rior to all emotions, and he very calmly smoked his pipe, as 
was his custom in all broils, unless when he apprehended 
some danger of having it broke in his mouth. 

The combatants being now prevented from executing 
present vengeance on each other, betook themselves to the 
common resources of disappointed rage, and vented their 
wrath in threats and defiance. In this kind of conflict, For¬ 
tune, which, in the personal attack, seemed to incline to 
Jones, was now altogether as favorable to his enemy. 

A truce, nevertheless, was at length agreed on, by the 
mediation of the neutral parties, and the whole company 
again sat down at the table, where Jones being prevailed 
. on to ask pardon, and Blifil to give it, peace was restored, 
and everything seemed in statu quo. 

But though the quarrel was, in all appearance, perfectly 
reconciled, the good-humor which had been interrupted by 
it was by no means restored. All merriment was now at 
an end, and the subsequent discourse consisted only of 
grave relations of matters of fact, and of as grave obser¬ 
vations upon them, a species of conversation in which, 
though there is much of dignity and instruction, there is 
but little entertainment. As we presume, therefore, to con¬ 
vey only this last to the reader, we shall pass by whatever 
was said, till the rest of the company having by degrees 
dropped off, left oidy Square and the physician together, 
at which time the conversation was a little heightened by 
some comments on what had happened between the two 
young gentlemen, both of whom the doctor declared to 
be no better than scoundrels, ro which appellation the 
philosopher, very sagaciously shaking Ins head, agreed. 







256 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


CHAPTER X. 

SHOWING THE TEETH OF MANY OBSEEVATIONS OF OVID, AND 
OF OTHER MORE GRAVE WRITERS, WHO HAVE PROVED, 
BEYOND CONTRADICTION, THAT WINE IS OFTEN THE FORE¬ 
RUNNER OF INCONTINENCY. 

Jones retired from tlie company, in which we have seen 
him engaged, into the fields, where he intended to cool 
himself by a walk in the open air before he attended Mr. 
Allworthy. There, whilst he renewed those meditations on 
his dear Sophia which the dangerous illness of his friend 
and benefactor had for some time interrupted, an accident 
happened, which with sorrow we relate, and with sorrow 
doubtless will it be read ; however, that historic truth to 
which we profess so inviolable an attachment obliges us to 
communicate it to posterity. 

It was now a pleasant evening in the latter end of June, 
when our hero was walking in a most delicious grove, where 
the gentle breezes fanning the leaves, together with the 
sweet trilling of a murmuring stream, and the melodious 
notes of nightingales, formed all together the most enchant¬ 
ing harmony. In this scene, so sweetly accommodated to 
love, he meditated on his dear Sophia. While his wanton 
fancy roved unbounded over all her beauties, and his lively 
imagination painted the charming maid in various ravish¬ 
ing forms, his warm heart melted with tenderness ; and at 
length, throwing himself on the ground, by the side of a 
gently murmuring brook, he broke forth into the following 
ejaculation : 

“ O Sophia, would heaven give thee to my arms, how blest 
would be my condition ! Cursed be that fortune which sets 
a distance between us. Was I but possessed of thee, one 





TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


25 ? 


only suit of rags thy whole estate, is there a man on earth 
whom I would envy ! How contemptible would the bright¬ 
est Circassian beauty, dressed in all the jewels of the Indies, 
appear to my eyes ! But why do I mention another wo¬ 
man ? Could I think my eyes capable of looking at any 
« other with tenderness, these hands should tear them from 
my head. lS T o, my Sophia, if cruel fortune separates us for 
ever, my soul shall dote on thee alone. The chastest con¬ 
stancy will I ever preserve to thy image. Though I should 
never have possession of thy charming person, still slialt 
thou alone have possession of my thoughts, my love, my 
soul. Oh ! my fond heart is so wrapt in that tender bosom, 
that the brightest beauties would for me have no charms, 
nor would a hermit be colder in their embraces. Sophia, 
Sophia alone shall be mine. What raptures are in that 
name ! I will engrave it on every tree.” 

At these words he started up, and beheld—not his Sophia 
—no, nor a Circassian maid richly and elegantly attired for 
the grand Signior’s seraglio. ~No ; without a gown, in a 
shift that was somewhat of the coarsest, and none of the 
cleanest, bedewed likewise with some odoriferous effluvia, 
the produce of the day’s labor, with a pitchfork in her 
hand, Molly Seagrim approached. Our hero had his pen¬ 
knife in his hand, which he had drawn for the before-men¬ 
tioned purpose of carving on the bark, when the girl, com¬ 
ing near him, cried out with a smile, “ You don't intend to 
kill me, squire, I hope ?” “ Why should you think I 

j would kill you?” answered Jones. “ Hay,” replied she, 
66 after your cruel usage of me when I saw you last, killing 
me would, perhaps, be too great kindness for me to ex¬ 
pect. ’ ’ 

Here ensued a parley, which, as I do not think myself 
obliged to relate it, I shall omit. It is sufficient that it 
lasted a full quarter of an hour, at the conclusion of which 
they retired into the thickest part of the grove. 




258 


TIIE HIS TO R Y OF 


Some of my readers may be inclined to think this event 
unnatural. However, the fact is true ; and perhaps may be 
sufficiently accounted for by suggesting that Jones prob¬ 
ably thought one woman better than none, and Molly as 
probably imagined two men to be better than one. Besides 
the before-mentioned motive assigned to the present behav- • 
ior of Jones, the reader will be likewise pleased to recollect 
in his favor that he was not at this time perfect master of 
that wonderful power of reason which so well enables 
grave and wise men to subdue their unruly passions, and to 
decline any of these prohibited amusements. Wine now 
had totally subdued this power in Jones. He was, indeed, 
in a condition in which, if reason had interposed, though 
only to advise, she might have received the answer which 
one Cleostratus gave many years ago to a silly fellow, who 
asked him if he was not ashamed to be drunk. “ Are 
not you,” said Cleostratus, “ ashamed to admonish a 
drunken man ?” To say the truth, in a court of justice 
drunkenness must not be an excuse, yet in a court of con¬ 
science it is greatly so ; and tliereiore Aristotle, who com¬ 
mends the laws of Pittacus, by which drunken men received 
double punishment for their crimes, allows there is more 
of policy than justice in that law. Now, if there are any 
transgressions. pardonable from drunkenness, they are cer¬ 
tainly such as Mr. Jones was at present guilty of ; on which 
head I could pour forth a vast profusion of learning, if I 
imagined it would either entertain my reader or teach him 
anything more than he knows already. For his sake, there¬ 
fore, I shall keep my learning to myself, and return to my 
history. 

It hath been observed that Fortune seldom doth things 
by halves. To say truth, there is no end to her freaks 
whenever she is disposed to gratify or displease. No sooner 
had our hero retired with his Dido, but 




259 


F 

TOM J ONES: A FO UNDLINO. 

Speluncam Blifil dux et divinus eandern 
Deveniunt - 

the parson and the young squire, who were taking a serious 
walk, arrived at the stile which leads into the grove, and 
the latter caught a view of the lovers just as they were sink¬ 
ing out of sight. 

Blifil knew Jones very well, though he was at above a 
hundred yards’ distance, and he was as positive to the sex 
of his companion, though not to the individual person. He 
started, blessed himself, and uttered a very solemn ejacu¬ 
lation. 

Thwackum expressed some surprise at these sudden 
emotions, and asked the reason of them. To which Blifil 
answered, “ He was certain he had seen a fellow and a 
wench retire together among the bushes, which he doubted 
not was with some wicked purpose. ’ ’ As to the name of 
Jones, he thought proper to conceal it, and why he did so 
must be left to the judgment of the sagacious reader ; for 
we never choose to assign motives to the actions of men, 
when there is any possibility of our being mistaken. 

The parson, who was not only strictly chaste in his own 
person, but a great enemy to the opposite vice in all others, 
fired at this information. He desired Mr. Blifil to conduct 
him immediately to the place, which as he approached he 
breathed forth vengeance mixed with lamentations ; nor 
did he refrain from casting some oblique reflections on Mr. 
Allworthy, insinuating that the wickedness of the country 
was principally owing to the encouragement he had given to 
vice, by having exerted such kindness to a bastard, and by 
having mitigated that just and wholesome rigor of the law 
which allots a very severe punishment to loose wenches. 

The way through which our hunters were to pass in pur¬ 
suit of their game was so beset with briers that it greatly 
obstructed their walk, and caused besides such a rustling 
that Jones had sufficient warning of their arrival before 




260 


TIIE HIS TOE Y OF 


they could surprise him ; nay, indeed, so incapable was 
Thwackum of concealing his indignation, and such ven¬ 
geance did he mutter forth every step he took, that this 
alone must have abundantly satisfied Jones that he was (to 
use the language of sportsmen) found sitting. 


CHAPTER XI. 

IN WHICH A SIMILE IN MR. POPE’S PERIOD OF A MILE IN¬ 
TRODUCES AS BLOODY A BATTLE AS CAN POSSIBLY BE 
FOUGHT WITHOUT THE ASSISTANCE OF STEEL OR COLD 
IRON. 

As in the season of rutting (an uncouth phrase, by which 
the vulgar denote that gentle dalliance which in the well- 
wooded * forest of Hampshire passes between lovers of the 
ferine kind), if, while the lofty-crested stag meditates the 
amorous sport, a couple of puppies, or any other beasts of 
hostile note, should wander so near the temple of Venus 
Ferina that the fair hind should shrink from the place, 
touched with that somewhat, either of fear or frolic, of 
nicety or skittishness, with which nature hath bedecked all 
females, or hath at least instructed them how to put it on ; 
lest, through the indelicacy of males, the Samean myster¬ 
ies should be pryed into by unhallowed eyes : for, at the 
celebration of these rites, the female priestess cries out with 
her in Virgil (who was then, probably, hard at work on 
such celebration), 

- Procul, o procul este, profani; 

Proclamat votes, totoque absistite luco. 

-Far lienee be souls profane. 

The sibyl cry’d, and from the grove abstain.—D ryden. 

*This is an ambiguous phrase, and may mean either a forest well 
clothed with wood or well stripped of it. 




TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


261 


If, I say, while these sacred rites, which are in common to 
genus omne animantium , are in agitation between the stag 
and his mistress, any hostile beasts should venture too near, 
on the first hint given by the frighted hind, fierce and tre¬ 
mendous rushes forth the stag to the entrance of the thicket, 
there stands the sentinel over his love, stamps the ground 
with his foot, and with his horns brandished aloft in air, 
proudly provokes the apprehended foe to combat. 

Thus, and more terrible, when he perceived the enemy’s 
approach, leaped forth our hero. Many a step advanced 
he forwards, in order to conceal the trembling hind, and, 
if possible, to secure her retreat. And now Thwackum, 
having first darted some livid lightning from his fiery eyes, 
began to thunder forth, “ Fie upon it! Fie upon it ! Mr. 
Jones. Is it possible you should be the person ?” “ You 

see, answered Jones, “it is possible I should be here.” 
“ And who,” said Thwackum, “is that wicked slut with 
you ?” “ If I have any wicked slut with me,” cries Jones, 

“it is possible I shall not let you know who she is.” “I 
command you to tell me immediately,” says Thwackum : 
“ and I would not have you imagine, young man, that your 
age, though it hath somewhat abridged the purpose of tui¬ 
tion, hath totally taken away the authority of the master. 
The relation of the master and scholar is indelible ; as, in¬ 
deed, all other relations are ; for they all derive their origi¬ 
nal from heaven. I would have you think yourself, there¬ 
fore, as much obliged to obey me now as when I taught you 
your first rudiments. ” “I believe you would, ” cries J ones ; 
“ but that will not happen, unless you had the same birchen 
argument to convince me.” “ Then I must tell you 
plainly, ” said Thwackum, “ I am resolved to discover the 
wicked wretch.” “ And I must tell you plainly,” re¬ 

turned Jones, “ I am resolved you shall not.” Thwackum 
then offered to advance, and Jones laid hold of his arms, 





262 


TIIE HISTOR Y OF 


which Mr. Blifil endeavored to rescue, declaring £ he 
would not see his old master insulted. ’ ’ 

Jones now finding himself engaged with two, thought it 
necessary to rid himself of one of his antagonists as soon as 
possible. He therefore applied to the weakest first ; and, 
letting the parson go, he directed a blow at the young 
squire’s breast, which luckily taking place, reduced him to 
measure his length on the ground. 

Thwackum was so intent on the discovery that, the mo¬ 
ment he found himself at liberty, he stepped forward directly 
into the fern, without any great consideration of what 
might in the meantime befall his friend ; hut he had ad¬ 
vanced a very few paces into the thicket before Jones, hav¬ 
ing defeated Blifil, overtook the parson, and dragged him 
backward by the skirt of his coat. 

This parson had been a champion in his youth, and had 
won much honor by his fist, both at school and at the uni¬ 
versity. He had now indeed, for a great number of years, 
declined the practice of that noble art ; yet was his courage 
full as strong as his faith, and his body no less strong than 
either. He was, moreover, as the reader may perhaps have 
conceived, somewhat irascible in his nature. When he 
looked back, therefore, and saw his friend stretched out on 
the ground, and found himself at the same time so roughly 
handled by one who had formerly been only passive in all 
conflicts between them (a circumstance which highly aggra¬ 
vated the whole), his patience at length gave way ; he 
threw himself into a posture of offence, and collecting all 
his force, attacked Jones in the front with as much impet¬ 
uosity as he had formerly attacked him in the rear. 

Our hero received the enemy’s attack with the most un¬ 
daunted intrepidity, and his bosom resounded with the 
blow. This he presently returned with no less violence, 
aiming likewise at the parson’s breast ; but he dexterously 
drove down the fist of Jones, so that it reached only his 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


263 


tally, where two pounds of beef and as many of pudding 
were then deposited, and whence consequently no hollow 
sound could proceed. Many lusty blows, much more pleas¬ 
ant as well as easy to have seen than to read or describe, 
were given on both sides : at last a violent fall, in which 
Jones had thrown his knees into Thwackum’s breast, so 
weakened the latter that victory had been no longer dubi¬ 
ous had not Blifil, who had now recovered his strength, 
again renewed the fight, and by engaging with Jones, given 
the parson a moment’s time to shake his ears and to regain 
his breath. 

And now both together attacked our hero, whose blows 
did not retain that force with which they had fallen at first, 
so weakened was he bv his combat with Thwackum ; for 
though the pedagogue chose rather to play solos on the hu¬ 
man instrument, and had been lately used to those only, yet 
he still retained enough of his ancient knowledge to per¬ 
form his part very well in a duet. 

The victory, according to modern custom, was like to be 
decided by numbers, when, on a sudden, a fourth pair of 
fists appeared in the battle, and immediately paid their com¬ 
pliments to the parson ; and the owner of them at the same 
time crying out, u Are not you ashamed, and be d—n’d to 
you, to fall two of you upon one ?” 

The battle, which was of the kind that for distinction’s 
sake is called royal, now raged with the utmost violence 
during a few minutes, till Blifil being a second time laid 
sprawling by Jones, Thwackum condescended to apply for 
quarter to his new antagonist, who was now found to be 
Mr. Western himself ; for in the heat of the action none of 
the combatants had recognized him. 

In fact, that honest squire, happening, in his afternoon’s 
walk with some company, to pass through the field where 
the bloody battle was fought, and having concluded, from 
seeing three men engaged, that two of them must be on a 





264 


THE HISTORY OF 


side, lie hastened from liis companions, and, with more gal* 
lantry than policy, espoused the cause of the weaker party. 
By which generous proceeding he very probably prevented 
Mr. Jones from becoming a victim to the wrath of Tliwack- 
um, and to the pious friendship which Blitil bore his old 
master ; for, besides the disadvantage of such odds, Jones 
had not yet sufficiently recovered the former strength of 
his broken arm. This reinforcement, however, soon put 
an end to the action, and Jones with his ally obtained the 
victory. 


CHAPTEB XII. 

IN WHICH IS SEEN A MORE MOVING SPECTACLE THAN ALL THE 
BLOOD IN THE BODIES OF THWACKUM AND BLIFIL, AND OF 
TWENTY OTHER SUCH, IS CAPABLE OF PRODUCING. 

The rest of Mr. Western’s company were now come up, 
being just at the instant when the action was over. These 
were the honest clergyman, whom we have formerly seen 
at Mr. Western’s table ; Mrs. Western, the aunt of So¬ 
phia ; and lastly, the lovely Sophia herself. 

At this time the following was the aspect of the bloody 
field. In one place lay on the ground, all pale, and almost 
breathless, the vanquished Blitil. Xear him stood the con¬ 
queror Jones, almost covered with blood, part of which was 
naturally his own, and part had been lately the property of 
the Reverend Mr. Thwackum. In a third place stood the 
said Thwackum, like King Porus, sullenly submitting to 
the conqueror. The last figure in the piece was Western 
the Great, most gloriously forbearing the vanquished foe. 

Blitil, in whom there was little sign of life, was at first 
the principal object of the concern of every one, and par¬ 
ticularly of Mrs. Western, who had drawn from her pocket 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


265 


a bottle of hartshorn, and was herself about to apply it to 
his nostrils, when on a sudden the attention of the whole 
company was diverted from poor Blifil, whose spirit, if it 
had any such design, might have now taken an opportunity 
of stealing off to the other world, without any ceremony. 

For now a more melancholy and a more lovely object lay 
motionless before them. This was no other than the 
charming Sophia herself, who, from the sight of blood, or 
from fear for her father, or from some other reason, had 
fallen down in a swoon before any one could get to her 
assistance. 

Mrs. Western first saw her and screamed. Immediately 
two or three voices cried out, u Miss Western is dead.” 
Hartshorn, water, every remedy was called for, almost at 
one and the same instant. 

The reader may remember that in our description of this 
grove we mentioned a murmuring brook, which brook did 
not come there, as such gentle streams flow through vulgar 
romances with no other purpose than to murmur. Ho ! 
Fortune had decreed to ennoble this little brook with a 
higher honor than any of those which wash the plains of 
Arcadia ever deserved. 

Jones was rubbing Blifil’s temples, for he began to fear 
he had given him a blow too much, when the words, Miss 
Western and Dead, rushed at once on his ear. He started 
up, left Blifil to his fate, and flew to Sophia, whom, while 
all the rest were running against each other, backward and 
forward, looking for water in the dry paths, he caught up 
in his arms, and then ran away with her over the field to 
the rivulet above mentioned, where, plunging himself into 
the water, he contrived to besprinkle her face, head, and 
neck very plentifully. 

Happy was it for Sophia that the same confusion which 
prevented her other friends from serving her, prevented 
them likewise from obstructing Jones. He had carried her 









266 


THE HISTORY OF 


half ways before they knew what he was doing, and he had 
actually restored her to life before they reached the water¬ 
side. She stretched out her arms, opened her eyes, and 
cried, “ Oh ! heavens !” just as her father, aunt, and the 
parson came up. 

Jones, who had hitherto held this lovely burden in his 
arms, now relinquished his hold ; but gave her at the same 
instant a tender caress, which, had her senses been then 
perfectly restored, could not have escaped her observation. 
As she expressed, therefore, no displeasure at this freedom, 
we suppose she was not sufficiently recovered from her 
swoon at the time. 

This tragical scene was now converted into a sudden 
scene of joy. In this our hero was certainly the principal 
character ; for as he probably felt more ecstatic delight in 
having saved Sophia than she herself received from being 
saved, so neither were the congratulations paid to her equal 
to what were conferred on Jones, especially by Mr. West¬ 
ern himself, who, after having once or twice embraced his 
daughter, fell to hugging and kissing Jones. He called 
him the preserver of Sophia, and declared there was noth¬ 
ing, except her, or his estate, which he would not give 
him ; but, upon recollection, he afterwards excepted his fox¬ 
hounds, the Chevalier, and Miss Slouch (for so he called his 
favorite mare). 

All fears for Sophia being now removed, Jones became 
the object of the squire’s consideration. u Come, my lad,” 
says Western, “ d’off they quoat and wash thy feace ; for 
att in a devilish pickle, I promise thee. Come, come, wash 
thyself, and shat go huome with me ; and we’ll zee to vind 
thee another quoat.” 

Jones immediately complied, threw off his coat, went 
down to the water, and washed both his face and bosom, 
for the latter was as much exposed and as bloody as the for¬ 
mer. But though the water could clear off the blood, it 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


26 ? 






could not remove tlie black and blue marks which Thwack- 
urn had imprinted on both his face and breast, and which, 
being discerned by Sophia, drew from her a sigh and a look 
full of inexpressible tenderness. 

Jones received this full in his eyes, and it had infinitely 
a stronger effect on him than all the contusions which he 
had received before. An effect, however, widely differ¬ 
ent ; for so soft and balmy was it, that, had all his former 
blows been stabs, it would for some minutes have prevented 
his feeling their smart. 

The company now moved backwards, and soon arrived 
where Thwackum had got Mr. Blifil again on his legs. 
Here we cannot suppress a pious wish that all quarrels were 
to be decided by those weapons with which Nature, know¬ 
ing what is proper for us, hath supplied us ; and that cold 
iron was to be used in digging no bowels but those of the 
earth. Then would war, the pastime of monarchs, be al¬ 
most inoffensive, and battles between great armies might be 
fought at the particular desire of several ladies of quality, 
who, together with the kings themselves, might he actual 
spectators of the conflict. Then might the field be this 
moment well strewed with human carcasses, and the next, 
the dead men, or infinitely the greatest part of them, might 
get up, like Mr. Bayes’s troops, and march off either at the 
sound of a drum or fiddle, as should be previously agreed 
on. 

I would avoid, if possible, treating this matter ludi¬ 
crously, lest grave men and politicians, whom I know to be 
offended at a jest, may cry pish at it ; but, in reality, might 
not a battle be as well decided by the greater number of 
broken heads, bloody noses, and black eyes, as by the great¬ 
er heaps of mangled and murdered human bodies ? Might 
not towns be contended for in the same manner ? Indeed, 
this may be thought too detrimental a scheme to the 
French interest, since they would thus lose the advantage 





268 


THE HIS TOR Y OF 


tliey have over other nations in the superiority of their 
engineers ; but when I consider the gallantly and gener¬ 
osity of that people, I am persuaded they would never de 
cline putting themselves upon a par with their adversary ; 
or, as the phrase is, making themselves his match. 

But such reformations are rather to be wished than hoped 
for : I shall content myself, therefore, with this short hint, 
and return to my narrative. 

Western began now to inquire into the original rise of 
this quarrel. To which neither Blifil nor Jones g-ave anv 
answer ; but Thwackum said surlily, “ I believe the cause 
is not far oft j if you beat the bushes well you may find 
her.” “ Find her ?” replied Western : “ what ! have you 
been fighting for a wench ?” “ Ask the gentleman in his 

waistcoat there,” said Thwackum: u he best knows.” 
“ Nay, then,” cries Western, “it is a wench certainly. 
“ Ah, Tom, Tom, thou art a liquorish dog. But come, 
gentlemen, be all friends, and go home with me, and make 
final peace over a bottle.” “ I ask your pardon, sir,” says 
Thwackum : it is no such slight matter for a man of my 
character to be thus injuriously treated, and buffeted by a 
boy, only because I would have done my duty in endeav¬ 
ouring to detect and bring to justice a wanton harlot ; 
but, indeed, the principal fault lies in Mr. Allworthy and 
yourself ; for if you put the laws in execution, as you ought 
to do, you will soon rid the country of these vermin.” 

u 1 would as soon rid the country of foxes,” cries West¬ 
ern. “ I think we ought to encourage the recruiting those 
numbers which we are every day losing in the war. But 
where is she ? Prithee, Tom, show me.” Fie then began 
to beat about, in the same language and in the same man¬ 
ner as if he had been beating for a hare ; and at last cried 
out, “ Soho ! Puss is not far off. Here’s her form, upon mv 
soul ; I believe I may cry stole away.” And indeed so he 
might ; for he had now discovered the place whence the 


TOM JONES: A FO UNDLING . 


269 


poor girl had, at the beginning of the fray, stolen away, 
upon as many feet as a hare generally uses in travelling. 

Sophia now desired her father to return home, saying 
she found herself very faint, and apprehended a relapse. 
The squire immediately complied with his daughter’s re¬ 
quest (for he was the fondest of parents). He earnestly 
endeavored to prevail with the whole company to go and 
sup with him : but Blifil and Thwackum absolutely re¬ 
fused, the former saying there were more reasons than he 
could then mention why he must decline this honor ; and 
the latter declaring (perhaps rightly) that it was not proper 
for a person of his function to be seen at any place in his 
present condition. 

Jones was incapable of refusing the pleasure of being 
with his Sophia ; so on he marched with Squire Western 
and his ladies, the parson bringing up the rear. This had, 
indeed, offered to tarry with his brother Thwackum, pro¬ 
fessing his regard for the cloth would not permit him to 
depart ; but Thwackum would not accept the favor, and, 
with no great civility, pushed him after Mr. Western. 

Thus ended this bloody fray ; and thus shall end the 
fifth book of this history. 



BOOK VI. 


CONTAINING ABOUT THREE WEEKS. 


CHAPTER I. 

OF LOVE. 

In our last book we have been obliged to deal pretty 
much with the passion of love, and in our succeeding book 
shall be forced to handle this subject still more largely. It 
may not, therefore, in this place be improper to apply our¬ 
selves to the examination of that modern doctrine by which 
certain philosophers, among many other wonderful discov¬ 
eries, pretend to have found out that there is no such pas- , 
sion in the human breast. 

Whether these philosophers be the same with that sur¬ 
prising sect who are honorably mentioned by the late Dr. 
Swift as having, by the mere force of genius alone, with¬ 
out the least assistance of any kind of learning, or even 
reading, discovered that profound and invaluable secret 
that there is no God, or whether they are not rather the 
same with those who some years since very much alarmed 
the world by showing that there were no such things as 
virtue or goodness really existing in human nature, and who 
deduced our best actions from pride, I will not here pre¬ 
sume to determine. In reality, I am inclined to suspect 
that all these several finders of truth are the very identical 
men who are by others called the finders of gold, the 
method used in both these searches after truth and after 
gold being indeed one and the same, viz., the searching, i 
rummaging, and examining into a nasty place ; indeed, in 








TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


271 


tlie former instances into tlie nastiest of all places, a bad 
mind. 

But though in this particular, and perhaps in their suc¬ 
cess, the trutli-finder and the gold-finder may very prop¬ 
erly be compared together, yet in modesty, surely, there 
can be no comparison between the two ; for who ever 
heard of a gold-finder that had the impudence or folly to 
assert, from the ill success of his search, that there was no 
such thing as gold in the world ? whereas the truth-finder, 
having raked out that jakes, his own mind, and being there 
capable of tracing no ray of divinity, nor anything virtuous 
or good, or lovely, or loving, very fairly, honestly, and log 
ically concludes that no such things exist in the whole cre¬ 
ation. 

To avoid, however, all contention, if possible, with these 
philosophers, if they will be called so, and to show our 
own disposition to accommodate matters peaceably between 
us, we shall here make them some concessions, which may 
possibly put an end to the dispute. 

First, we will grant that many minds, and perhaps those 
of the philosophers, are entirely free from the least traces 
of such a passion. 

Secondly, that what is commonly called love, namely, 
the desire of satisfying a voracious appetite with a certain 
quantity of delicate white human flesh, is by no means 
that passion for which I here contend. This is indeed 
more properly hunger ; and as no glutton is ashamed to 
apply the word love to his appetite, and to say he loves 
such and such dishes, so may the lover of this kind with 
equal propriety say he hungers after such and such wo¬ 
men. 

Thirdly, I will grant, which I believe will be a most ac¬ 
ceptable concession, that this love for which 1 am an advo¬ 
cate, though it satisfies itself in a much more delicate man¬ 
ner, doth nevertheless^ seek its own satisfaction as much as 
the grossest of all our appetites. 






THE HISTORY OF 


272 

And, lastly, that this love, when it operates towards one 
of a different sex, is very apt, towards its complete gratifi¬ 
cation, to call in the aid of that hunger which I have men¬ 
tioned above ; and which it is so far from abating, that it 
heightens all its delights to a degree scarce imaginable by 
those who have never been susceptible of any other emo¬ 
tions than what have proceeded from appetite alone. 

In return to all these concessions, I desire of the philoso¬ 
phers to grant that there is in some (I believe in many) 
human breasts a kind and benevolent disposition which is 
gratified by contributing to the happiness of others. That 
in this gratification alone, as in friendship, in parental and 
filial affection, as indeed in general philanthropy, there is 
a great and exquisite delight. That if we will not call such 
disposition love, we have no name for it. lliat though 
the pleasures arising from such pure love may be heighten¬ 
ed and sweetened by the assistance of amorous desires, yet 
the former can subsist alone, nor are they destroyed by the 
intervention of the latter. Lastly, that esteem and grati¬ 
tude are the proper motives to love, as youth and beauty 
are to desire, and, therefore, though such desires may natu¬ 
rally cease, when age or sickness overtakes its object, yet 
these can have no effect on love, nor ever shake or remove, 
from a good mind, that sensation or passion which hath 
gratitude and esteem for its basis. 

o 

To deny the existence of a passion of which we often see 
manifest instances, seems to be very strange and absurd ; 
and can indeed proceed only from that self-admonition 
which we have mentioned above ; but how unfair is this ! 
Doth the man who recognizes in his own heart no traces of 
avarice or ambition conclude, therefore, that there are no 
such passions in human nature ? Why will we not modestly 
observe the same rule in judging of the good as well as the 
evil of others ? Or why, in any case, will we, as Shakes¬ 
peare phrases it, “ put the world in our own person ?” 

Predominant vanity is, I am afraid, too much concerned 







TOM JOMES: A FO UND LTJSTG. 


273 

liere. This is one instance of that adulation which we be¬ 
stow on our own minds, and this almost universally. For 
there is scarce any man, how much soever he may despise 
the character of a flatterer, but will condescend in the 
meanest manner to flatter himself. 

To those, therefore, I apply for the truth of the above 
observations, whose own minds can bear testimony to what I 
have advanced. 

Examine your heart, my good reader, and resolve whether 
you do believe these matters with me. If you do, you may 
now proceed to their exemplification in the following 
pages ; if you do not, you have, I assure you, already read 
more than you have understood ; and it would be wiser to 
pursue your business, or your pleasures (such as they are), 
than to throw away any more of your time in reading what 
you can neither taste nor comprehend. To treat of the 
effects of love to you must be as absurd as to discourse on 
colors to a man born blind, since possibly your idea of 
love may be as absurd as that which we are told such blind 
man ohce entertained of the color scarlet ; that color seemed 
to him to be very much like the sound of a trumpet : and 
love probably may, in your opinion, very greatly resemble 
a dish of soup, or a sirloin of roast beef. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE CHARACTER OF MRS. WESTERN. HER GREAT LEARNING 
AND KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD, AND AN INSTANCE OF 
THE DEEP PENETRATION WHICH SHE DERIVED FROM THOSE 
ADVANTAGES. 

The reader hath seen Mr. Western, his sister, and 
daughter, with young Jones, and the parson, going together 
to Mr. Western’s house, where the greater part of the com- 











274 


THE HISTORY OF 


pany spent the evening with much joy and festivity. So¬ 
phia was indeed the only grave person ; for as to Jones, 
though love had now gotten entire possession of his heart, 
yet the pleasing reflection on Mr. Allworthy’s recovery, 
and the presence of his mistress, joined to some tender 
looks which she now and then could not refrain from giving 
him, so elevated our hero that he joined the mirth of the 
other three, who were perhaps as good-humored people as 
any in the world. 

Sophia retained the same gravity of countenance the next 
morning at breakfast ; whence she retired likewise earlier 
than usual, leaving her father and aunt together. The 
squire took no notice of this change in his daughter’s dis¬ 
position. To say the truth, though he was somewhat of a 
politician, and had been twice a candidate in the county 
interest at an election, he was a man of no great observa¬ 
tion. Ilis sister was a lady of a different turn. She had 
lived about the court, and had seen the world. Hence she 
had acquired all that knowledge which the said world 
usually communicates ; and was a perfect mistress of man¬ 
ners, customs, ceremonies, and fashions. Nor did her eru¬ 
dition stop here. She had considerably improved her 
mind by study ; she had not only read all the modern 
plays, operas, oratorios, poems, and romances—in all which 
she was a critic—but had gone through Rapin’s History of 
England, Eachard's Roman History, and many French 
Memoires pour servir a V Histoire : to these she had added 
most of the political pamphlets and journals published 
within the last twenty years. .From which she had attained 
a very competent skill in politics, and could discourse very 
learnedly on the affairs of Europe. She was, moreover, 
excellently well skilled in the doctrine of amour, and knew 
better than anybody who and who were together, a knowl¬ 
edge which she the more easily attained as her pursuit of 
it was never diverted by any affairs of her own ; for either 


TOM JO IVES: A FOUNT* LING. 


275 


sne liad no inclinations, or they had never been solicited * 
which last is indeed very probable ; for her masculine per¬ 
son, which was near six foot high, added to her manner and 
learning, possibly prevented the other sex from regarding 
her, notwithstanding her petticoats, in the light of a 
woman. However, as she had considered the matter scien- 
titically, she perfectly well knew, though she had never 
practised them, all the arts which tine ladies use when they 
desire to give encouragement, or to conceal liking, with all 
the long appendage of smiles, ogles, glances, etc., as they 
are at present practised in the beau-monde. To sum the 
whole, no species of disguise or affectation had escaped her 
notice ; but as to the plain simple workings of honest na¬ 
ture, as she had never seen any such, she could know but 
little of them. 

By means of this wonderful sagacity, Mrs. Western had 
now, as she thought, made a discovery of something in the 
mind of Sophia. The first hint of this she took from the 
behavior of the young lady in the field of battle ; and the 
suspicion which she then conceived was greatly corroborat¬ 
ed by some observations which she had made that evening 
and the next morning. However, being greatly cautious to 
avoid being found in a mistake, she carried the secret a 
whole fortnight in her bosom, giving only some oblique 
hints, by simpering, winks, nods, and now and then drop¬ 
ping an obscure word, which indeed sufficiently alarmed 
Sophia, but did not at all affect her brother. 

Being at length, however, thoroughly satisfied of the 
truth of her observation, she took an opportunity, one 
morning, when she was alone with her brother, to interrupt 
one of his whistles in the following manner : 

“ Pray, brother, have you not observed something very 
extraordinary in my niece lately ?” “ Ho, not I, ’ ’ answered 

Western; “is anything the matter with the girl?” “1 
think there is, ’ ’ replied she ; ‘ 4 and something of much con- 










276 


TJfh FIT STORY OF 


sequence too.” “Why, she doth not complain of any¬ 
thing,” cries Western ; u and she hath had the small¬ 
pox.” “ Brother,” returned she, “ girls are liable to other 
distempers besides the small-pox, and sometimes possibly 
to much worse.” Here Western interrupted her with much 
earnestness, and begged her, if anything ailed his daughter, 
to acquaint him immediately, adding, “ she knew he loved 
her more than his own soul, and that he would send to the 
world’s end for the best physician to her.” “ Hay, nay,” 
answered she, smiling, “ the distemper is not so terrible ; 
but, I believe, brother, you are convinced I know the 
world, and I promise you I was never more deceived in my 
life, if my niece be not most desperately in love.” 
“ How ! in love !” cries Western in a passion ; “in love, 
without acquainting me ! I’ll disinherit her ; I’ll turn her 
out of doors, stark naked, without a farthing. Is all my 
kindness vor ’ur and vondness o’ur come to this, to fall in 
love without asking me leave ?” “ But you will not,” an¬ 

swered Mrs. Western, “turn this daughter, whom you 
love better than your own soul, out of doors, before you 
know whether you shall approve her choice. Suppose she 
should have fixed on the very person whom you yourself 
would wish, I hope you would not be angry then ?” “ Ho, 

no,” cries Western, “that would make a difference. If 
she marries the man I would ha’ her, she may love whom 
she pleases ; I shan’t trouble my head about that.” “ That 
is spoken,” answered the sister, “ like a sensible man ; but 
I believe the very person she hath chosen would be the 
very person you would choose for her. I will disclaim all 
knowledge of the world if it is not so ; and I believe, 
brother, you will allow I have some. ” “ Why, lookee, sis¬ 

ter,” said Western, “1 do believe you have as much as any 
woman ; and to be sure those are women’s matters. You 
know I don’t love to hear you talk about politics ; they her 
long to us, and petticoats should not meddle : but come, who 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


m 


is the man ?” “ Marry l' 1 said she, “ you may find him out 

yourself if you please. You, who are so great a politician, 
can be at no great loss. The judgment which can penetrate 
into the cabinets of princes, and discover the secret springs 
which move the great state wheels in all the political ma¬ 
chines of Europe, must surely, with very little difficulty, 
find out what passes in the rude uninformed mind of a 
girl.” “ Sister,” cries the squire, “I have often warn’d 
you not to talk the court gibberish to me. I tell you I 
don’t understand the lingo ; but I can read a journal, or 
the London Evening Post. Perhaps, indeed, there may 
be now and tan a verse which I can’t make much of, be¬ 
cause half the letters are left out ; yet I know very well 
what is meant by that, and that our affairs don’t go so well 
as they should do, because of bribery and corruption.” 
u I pity your country ignorance from my heart,” cries the 
lady. “ Do you ?” answered Western ; u and I pity your 
town learning ; I had rather be anything than a courtier, 
and a Presbyterian, and a Hanoverian, too, as some people, I 
believe, are.” “ If you mean me,” answered she, “ you 
know I am a woman, brother ; and it signifies nothing what 
I am. Besides—” “ I do know you are a woman,” cries 

the squire, “ and it’s well for thee that art one ; if hadst 
been a man, I promise thee I had lent thee a flick long 
ago.” “ Ay, there,” said she, “ in that flick lies all your 
fancied superiority. Your bodies, and not your brains, are 
stronger than ours. Believe me it is well for you that you 
are able to beat us ; or, such is the superiority of our under¬ 
standing, we should make all of you what the brave, and 
wise, and witty, and polite are already—our slaves.” “I 
am glad I know your mind,” answered the squire. But 
we’ll talk more of this matter another time. At present, 
do tell me what man it is you mean about my daughter. ’ ’ 
“ Hold a moment,” said she, “ while I digest that sov¬ 
ereign contempt I have for your sex ; or else I ought to be 





278 


THE HISTORY OF 


angry too with you. There— I have made a shift to 
gulp it down. And now, good politic sir, what think you 
of Mr. Blifil ? Did she not faint away on seeing him lie 
breathless on the ground ? Did she not, after he was re¬ 
covered, turn pale again the moment we came up to that 
part of the field where he stood ? And pray what else 
should he the occasion of all her melancholy that night at 
supper, the next morning, and indeed ever since ?” 
“ ’Fore George !” cries the squire, “ now you mind me 
on’t, I remember it all. It is certainly so, and 1 am glad on’t 
with all my heart. I knew Sophy was a good girl, and 
would not fall in love to make me angry. I was never 
more rejoiced in my life, for nothing can lie so handy to¬ 
gether as our two estates. I had this matter in my head 
some time ago : for certainly the two estates are in a man¬ 
ner joined together in matrimony already, and it would he 
a thousand pities to part them It is true, indeed, there 
be larger estates in the kingdom, but not in this county, 
and 1 had rather bate something than marry my daughter 
among strangers and foreigners. Besides, most o’ zucli 
great estates he in the hands of lords, and I hate the very 
name of themmum. Well, hut, sister, what would you ad¬ 
vise me to do ; for I tell you women know these matters 
better than we do?” “ Oh, your humble servant, sir,” 
answered the lady : (S we are obliged to you for allowing 
ns a capacity in anything. Since you are pleased, then, 
most politic sir, to ask my advice, I think you may pro¬ 
pose the match to Allworthy yourself. There is no inde¬ 
corum in the proposal’s coming from the parent of either 
side. King Alcinous, in Mr. Pope’s Odyssey, offers his 
daughter to Ulysses. I need not caution so politic a per¬ 
son not to say that your daughter is in love ; that would in¬ 
deed he against all rules.” “ Well,” said the squire, “ I 
will propose it ; hut I shall certainly lend un a flick, if he 
should refuse me.” “ Fear not,” cries Mrs. Western; 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


279 


u the match is too advantageous to he refused.” “1 
don’t know that,” answered the squire : “ Allworthy is a 
queer b—eh, and money hath no effect o’ un.” “ Broth¬ 
er,” said the lady, 66 your politics astonish me. Are you 
really to he imposed on by professions ? I)o you think 
Mr. Allworthy hath more contempt for money than other 
men because he professes more ? Such credulity would 
better become one of us weak women, than that wise sex 
which heaven hath formed for politicians. Indeed, brother, 
you would make a fine plenipo to negotiate with the French. 
They would soon persuade you that they take towns out of 
mere defensive principles.” “ Sister,” answered the 
squire, with much scorn, “ let your friends at court answer 
for the towns taken ; as you are a woman, I shall lay no 
blame upon you ; for I suppose they are wiser than to trust 
women with secrets. ’ 1 He accompanied this with so sar- 
castical a laugh that Mrs. Western could bear no longer. 
She had been all this time fretted in a tender part (for she 
was indeed very deeply skilled in these matters, and very 
violent in them), and, therefore, burst forth in a rage, de¬ 
clared her brother to be both a clown and a blockhead, and 
that she would stay no longer in his house. 

The squire, though perhaps he had never read Macliiavel, 
was, however, in many points, a perfect politician. He 
strongly held all those wise tenets, which are so well in¬ 
culcated in that Politico-Peripatetic school of Exchange- 
alley. He knew the just value and only use of money, 
viz., to lay it up. He was likewise well skilled in the exact 
value of reversions, expectations, etc., and had often con¬ 
sidered the amount of his sister’s fortune, and the chance 
which he or his posterity had of inheriting it. This he was 
infinitely too wise to sacrifice to a trifling resentment. 
When he found, therefore, he had carried matters too far, 
he began to think of reconciling them ; which was no very 
difficult task, as the lady had great affection for her bro- 





280 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


ther, and still greater for lier niece ; and tliongli too suscep¬ 
tible of an affront offered to her skill in politics, on which 
she much valued herself, was a woman of a very extraordi¬ 
nary good and sweet disposition. 

Having first, therefore, laid violent hands on the horses, 
for whose escape from the stable no place but the window 
was left open, he next applied himself to his sister ; 
softened and soothed her by unsaying all he had said, and 
by assertions directly contrary to those which had incensed 
her. Lastly, he summoned the elocprence of Sophia to his 
assistance, who, besides a most graceful and winning ad¬ 
dress, had the advantage of being heard with great favor 
and partiality by her aunt. 

The result of the whole was a kind smile from Mrs. West¬ 
ern, who said, “ Brother, you are absolutely a perfect 
Croat ; but as those have their use in the army of the em¬ 
press queen, so you likewise have some good in you. 1 
will therefore once more sign a treaty of peace with you, 
and see that you do not infringe it on your side ; at least, 
as you are so excellent a politician, I may expect you will 
keep your leagues, like the French, till your interest calls 
upon you to break them.” 

CHAPTER III. 

CONTAINING TWO DEFIANCES TO THE CRITICS. 

The squire having settled matters with his sister, as we 
have seen in the last chapter, was so greatly impatient to 
communicate the proposal to Allworthy that Mrs. West¬ 
ern had the utmost difficulty to prevent him from visiting 
that gentleman in his sickness, for this purpose. 

Mr. Allworthy had been engaged to dine with Mr. West¬ 
ern at the time when he was taken ill. He was therefore 
no sooner discharged out of the custody of physic, but he 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


281 


thought (as was usual with him ou all occasions, both the 
highest and the lowest) of fulfilling his engagement. 

In the interval between the time of the dialogue in the 
last chapter, and this day of public entertainment, Sophia 
had, from certain obscure hints thrown out by her aunt, 
collected some apprehension that the sagacious lady sus¬ 
pected her passion for Jones. She now resolved to take 
this opportunity of wiping out all such suspicion, and for 
that purpose to put an entire constraint on her behavior. 

First, she endeavored to conceal a throbbing melancholy 
heart with the utmost sprightliness in her countenance, and 
the highest gayety in her manner. Secondly, she addressed 
her whole discourse to Mr. Blifil, and took not the least 
notice of poor Jones the whole day. 

The scpiire was so delighted with this conduct of his 
daughter that he scarce eat any dinner, and spent almost 
his whole time in watching opportunities of conveying signs 
of his approbation by winks and nods to his sister, who 
was not at first altogether so pleased with what she saw as 
was her brother. 

In short, Sophia so greatly overacted her part that her 
aunt w T as at first staggered, and began to suspect some 
affectation in her niece ; but as she was herself a woman of 
great art, so she soon attributed this to extreme art in So¬ 
phia. She remembered the many hints she had given her 
niece concerning her being in love, and imagined the 
young lady had taken this way to rally her out of her opin¬ 
ion, by an overacted civility ; a notion that was greatly cor¬ 
roborated by the excessive gayety with which the whole was 
accompanied. We cannot here avoid remarking that this 
conjecture would have been better founded had Sophia 
lived ten years in the air of Grosvenor Square, where young 
ladies do learn a wonderful knack of rallying and playing 
with that passion which is a mighty serious thing in woods 
and groves an hundred miles distant from London. 












282 


THE HISTORY OF 


To say the truth, in discovering the deceit of others, it 
matters much that our own art be wound up, if I may use 
the expression, in the same key with theirs ; for very art¬ 
ful men sometimes miscarry by fancying others wiser, or, in 
other words, greater knaves, than they really are. As this 
observation is pretty deep, I will illustrate it by the follow¬ 
ing short story. Three countrymen were pursuing a Wilt¬ 
shire thief through Brentford. The simplest of them seeing 
“ The Wiltshire House” written under a sign, advised his 
companions to enter it, for there most probably they would 
find their countryman. The second, who was wiser, 
laughed at this simplicity ; but the third, who was wiser 
still, answered, u Let us go in, however, for he may think 
we should not suspect him of going amongst his own coun¬ 
trymen.” They accordingly went in and searched . the 
house, and by that means missed overtaking the thief, who 
was at that time but a little way before them, and who, as 
they all knew, but had never once reflected, could not read. 

• The reader will pardon a digression in which so invalu¬ 
able a secret is communicated, since every gamester will 
agree how necessary it is to know exactly the play of 
another, in order to countermine him. This will, more¬ 
over, afford a reason why the wiser man, as is often seen, 
is the bubble of the weaker, and why many simple and in¬ 
nocent characters are so generally misunderstood and mis¬ 
represented ; but what is most material, this will account 
for the deceit which Sophia put on her politic aunt. 

Dinner being ended, and the company retired into the 
garden, Mr. Western, who was thoroughly convinced of 
the certainty of what his sister had told him, took Mr. All- 
worthy aside, and very bluntly proposed a match between 
Sophia and young Mr. Blifll. 

Mr. Allworthy was not one of those men whose hearts 
flutter at any unexpected and sudden tidings of worldly 
profit. His mind was, indeed, tempered with that pliilos- 





TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 283 

opliy which becomes a man and a Christian. He affected 
no absolute superiority to all pleasure and pain, to all joy 
and grief ; but was not at the same time to be discomposed 
and ruffled by every accidental blast, by every smile or frown 
of fortune. He received, therefore, Mr. Western’s propo¬ 
sal without any visible emotion, or without any alteration 
of countenance. He said the alliance was such as he sin¬ 
cerely wished ; then launched forth into a very just encomi¬ 
um on the young lady’s merit ; acknowledged the offer to 
be advantageous in point of fortune ; and after thanking 
Mr. Western for the good opinion he had professed of his 
nephew, concluded that if the young people liked each 
other, he should be very desirous to complete the affair. 

Western was a little disappointed at Mr. Allworthy’s an¬ 
swer, which was not so warm as he expected. He treated 
the doubt whether the young people might like one another 
with great contempt, saying, u That parents were the best 
judges of proper matches for their children ; that for his 
part he should insist on the most resigned obedience from 
his daughter ; and if any young fellow could refuse such a 
bed-fellow, he was his humble servant, and hoped there 
was no harm done. ’ ’ 

Allworthy endeavored to soften this resentment by many 
eulogiums on Sophia, declaring he had no doubt but that 
Mr. Blifil would very gladly receive the offer ; but all was 
ineffectual ; he could obtain no other answer from the 
squire but “ I say no more—I humbly hope there’s no 
harm done—that’s all.” Which words he repeated at least 
a hundred times before they parted. 

All worthy was too well acquainted with his neighbor to 
be offended at this behavior ; and though he was so adverse 
to the rigor which some parents exercise on their children 
in the article of marriage, that he had resolved never to 
force his nephew’s inclinations, he was nevertheless much 



284 


THE ins TOE Y OF 


pleased with, the prospect of this union ; for the whole 
country resounded the praises of Sophia, and he had himself 
greatly admired the uncommon endowments of both her 
mind and person. To which I believe we may add the 
consideration of her vast fortune, which, though he was too 
sober to be intoxicated with it, he was too sensible to de¬ 
spise. 

And here, in defiance of all the barking critics in the 
world, I must and will introduce a digression concerning 
true wisdom, of which Mr. Allworthy was in reality as 
great a pattern as he was of goodness. 

True wisdom, then, notwithstanding all which Mr. Ho¬ 
garth’s poor poet may have writ against riches, and in spite of 
all which any rich well-fed divine may have preached 
against pleasure, consists not in the contempt of either of 
these. A man may have as much wisdom in the possession 
of an affluent fortune as any beggar in the streets ; or may 
enjoy a handsome wife or a hearty friend, and still remain 
as wise as any sour popish recluse who buries all his social 
faculties, and starves his belly while he well lashes his back. 

To say truth, the wisest man is the likeliest to possess all 
wordly blessings in an eminent degree ; for as that modera¬ 
tion which wisdom prescribes is the surest way to useful 
wealth, so can it alone qualify us to taste many pleasures. 
The wise man gratifies every appetite and every passion, 
while the fool sacrifices all the rest to pall and satiate one. 

It may be objected that very wise men have been noto^ 
riously avaricious. I answer, Hot wise in that instance. It 
may likewise be said, That the wisest men have been in 
their youth immoderately fond of pleasure. I answer, They 
were not wise then. 

Wisdom, in short, whose lessons have been represented 
as so hard to learn by those who never were at her school, 
only teaches us to extend a simple maxim universally 


TOM JONES: A FO UNBEING. 


285 


known and followed even in the lowest life, a little farther 
than that life carries it. And this is, not to buy at too 
dear a price. 

Now, whoever takes this maxim abroad with him into 
the grand market of the world, and constantly applies it to 
honors, to riches, to pleasures, and to every other com¬ 
modity which that market affords, is, I will venture to 
affirm, a wise man, and must be so acknowledged in the 
worldly sense of the word ; for he makes the best of bar¬ 
gains, since in reality he purchases everything at the 
price only of a little trouble, and carries home all the good 
things I have mentioned, while he keeps his health, his in¬ 
nocence, and his reputation, the common prices which are 
paid for them by others, entire and to himself. 

From this moderation, likewise, he learns two other les¬ 
sons, which complete his character. First, never to be in¬ 
toxicated when he hath made the best bargain, nor dejected 
when the market is empty, or when its commodities are 
too dear for his purchase. 

But I must remember on what subject I am writing, and 
not trespass too far on the patience of a good-natured critic. 
Here, therefore, I put an end to the chapter. 

CHAPTER IV. 

CONTAINING SUNDRY CURIOUS MATTERS. 

As soon as Mr. Allworthy returned home he took Mr. 
Blifil apart, and, after some preface, communicated to him 
the proposal which had been made by Mr. AVestern, and at 
the same time informed him how agreeable this match 
would be to himself. 

The charms of Sophia had not made the least impression 
on Blifil ; not that his heart was pre-engaged ; neither was 
he totally insensible of beauty, or had any aversion to 





286 


THE HISTORY OF 


women ; but bis appetites were by nature so moderate that 
be was able, by philosophy, or by study, or by some other 
method, easily to subdue them ; and as to that passion 
which we have treated of in the first chapter of this book, 
he had not the least tincture of it in his whole composition. 

But, though he was so entirely free from that mixed pas¬ 
sion of which we there treated, and of which the virtues 
and beauty of Sophia formed so notable an object, yet was 
he altogether as well furnished with some other passions, 
that promised themselves very full gratification in the young 
lady’s fortune. Such were avarice and ambition, which di¬ 
vided the dominion of his mind between them. He had 
more than once considered the possession of this fortune as 
a very desirable thing, and had entertained some distant 
views concerning it ; but his own youth, and that of the 
young lady, and indeed principally a reflection that Mr. 
Western might marry again, and have more children, had 
restrained him from too hasty or eager a pursuit. 

This last and most material objection was now in great 
measure removed, as the proposal came from Mr. Western 
himself. Blifil, therefore, after a very short hesitation, 
answered Mr. All worthy that matrimony was a subject on 
which he had not yet thought ; but that he was so sensible 
of his friendly and fatherly care that he should in all 
things submit himself to his pleasure. 

Allworthy was naturally a man of spirit, and his present 
gravity arose from true wisdom and philosophy, not from 
any original phlegm in his disposition ; for he had possessed 
much fire in his youth, and had married a beautiful woman 
for love. lie was not, therefore, greatly pleased with this 
cold answer of his nephew ; nor could he help launching 
forth into the praises of Sophia, and expressing some won¬ 
der that the heart of a young man could be impregnable to 
the force of such charms, unless it was guarded by some 
prior affection. 




TOM JOKES: A FOUNDLING. 


287 


Blifil assured him he had no such guard, and then pro¬ 
ceeded to discourse so wisely and religiously on love and 
marriage that he would have stopped the mouth of a parent 
much less devoutly inclined than was his uncle, in the 
end, the good man was satisfied that his nephew, far from 
having any objections to Sophia, had that esteem for her 
which in sober and virtuous minds is the sure foundation 
of friendship and love. And as he doubted not but the 
lover would, in a little time, become altogether as agree¬ 
able to his mistress, he foresaw great happiness arising to 
all parties by so proper and desirable an union. With Mr. 
Blifil’s consent, therefore, he wrote the next morning to Mr. 
Western, acquainting him that his nephew had very thank¬ 
fully and gladly received the proposal, and would be ready 
to wait on the young lady whenever she should be pleased 
to accept his visit. 

W estern was much pleased with this letter, and imme¬ 
diately returned an answer ; in which, without having men¬ 
tioned a word to his daughter, he appointed that very after¬ 
noon for opening the scene of courtship. 

As soon as he had despatched this messenger he went in 
quest of his sister, whom he found reading and expounding 
the Gazette to parson Supple. To this exposition he was 
obliged to attend near a quarter of an hour, though with- 
great violence to his natural impetuosity, before he was 
suffered to speak.* At length, however, he found an op¬ 
portunity of acquainting that lady that he had business of 
great consequence to impart to her ; to which she answered, 
u Brother, I am entirely at your service. Things look so 
well in the north that I was never in a better humor.” 

The parson then withdrawing, Western acquainted her 
with all which had passed, and desired her to communicate 
the affair to Sophia, which she readily and cheerfully un¬ 
dertook ; though perhaps her brother was a little obliged to 
that agreeable northern aspect which had so delighted her, 








288 


THE HISTORY OF 


that he heard no comment on liis proceedings ; for they 
were certainly somewhat too hasty and violent. 


CHAPTEK Y. 

IN WHICH IS RELATED WHAT PASSED BETWEEN SOPHIA AND 

HER AUNT. 

Sophia was in her chamber, reading, when her aunt came 
in. The moment she saw Mrs. Western she slmt the book 
with so much eagerness that the good lady could not forbear 
asking her, What book that was which she seemed so much 
afraid of showing ? “ Upon my word, madam,” answered 

Sophia, “ it is a book which I am neither ashamed nor 
afraid to own I have read. It is the production of a young 
lady of fashion, whose good understanding, I think, doth 
honor to her sex, and whose good heart is an honor to 
human nature.” Mrs. Western then took up the book, and 
immediately after threw it down, saying, “ Yes, the au¬ 
thor is of a very good family ; but she is not much among 
people one knows. I have never read it ; for the best 
judges say there is not much in it.” “I dare not, 
madam, set up my own opinion,” says Sophia, “ against the 
best judges, but there appears to me a great deal of human 
nature in it ; and in many parts so much true tenderness 
and delicacy that it hath cost me many a tear.” “ Ay, 
and do you love to cry then ?” says the aunt. “ I love a 
tender sensation,” answered the niece, “ and would pay the 
price of a tear for it at any time.” “ Well, but show me,” 
said the aunt, what you was reading when I came in ; 
there was something very tender in that, I believe, and very 
loving too. You blush, my dear Sophia. Ah ! child, you 
should read books which would teach you a little hypocrisy, 
which would instruct you how to hide your thoughts a little 
better.” “ I hope, madam,” answered Sophia, “I have 




289 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

no thoughts which I ought to be ashamed of discovering .’ 1 
u Ashamed ! no,’’ cries the aunt, u I don’t think you 
have any thoughts which you ought to be ashamed of ; and 
yet, child, you blushed just now when I mentioned the word 
loving. Dear Sophy, be assured you have not one thought 
which I am not well acquainted with ; as well, child, as the 
French are with our motions, long before we put them in exe¬ 
cution. Did you think, child, because you have been able 
to impose upon your father, that you could impose upon me ? 
Do you imagine I did not know the reason of your overacting 
all that friendship for Mr. Blitil yesterday ? I have seen a 
little too much of the world to be so deceived. Nay, nay, 
do not blush again. I tell you it is a passion you need not 
be ashamed of. It is a passion I myself approve, and have 
already brought your father into the approbation of it. In 
deed, I solely consider your inclination ; for I would al¬ 
ways have that gratified, if possible, though one may sacri 
fice higher prospects. Come, I have news which will de¬ 
light your very soul. Make me your confidant, and I will 
undertake you shall be happy to the very extent of your 
wishes.” u La, madam,” says Sophia, looking more fool¬ 
ishly than ever she did in her life, “ I know not what to 
say—why, madam, should you suspect?” “ Nay, no dis¬ 
honesty,” returned Mrs. Western. “ Consider you are 
speaking to one of your own sex, to an aunt, and I hope 
you are convinced you speak to a friend. Consider you 
are only revealing to me what I know already, and what I 
plainly saw yesterday, through that most artful of all dis¬ 
guises, which you had put on, and which must have de¬ 
ceived any one who had not perfectly known the world. 
Lastly, consider it is a passion which I highly approve. ” 
“ La, madam,” says Sophia, u you come upon one so un¬ 
awares, and on a sudden. To be sure, madam, I am not 
blind—and certainly, if it be a fault to see all human per¬ 
fections assembled together—but is it possible my father 









290 


THE HISTORY OF 


and yon, madam, can see with my eyes ?” “ 1 tell you,” 

answered the aunt,” we do entirely approve ; and this 
very afternoon your father hath appointed for you to re¬ 
ceive your lover.” “My father, this afternoon!” cries 
Sophia, with the blood starting from her face. “ Yes, 
child, said the aunt, “ this afternoon. You know the im¬ 
petuosity of my brother’s temper. I acquainted him with 
the passion which 1 first discovered in you that evening 
when you fainted away in the field. I saw it in your faint¬ 
ing. I saw it immediately upon your recovery. I saw it 
that evening at supper, and the next morning at breakfast 
(you know, child, I have seen the world). Well, I no 
sooner acquainted my brother but he immediately wanted 
to propose it to All worthy. He proposed it yesterday, All¬ 
worthy consented (as to be sure he must with joy), and this 
afternoon, I tell you, you are to put on all your best airs.” 
“ This afternoon !” cries Sophia. “ Dear aunt, you 
frighten me out of my senses.” “ O, my dear,” said the 
aunt, “ you will soon come to yourself again; for he is a 
charming young fellow, that’s the truth on’t. ” “ Hay, I 
will own,” says Sophia, “I know none with such perfec¬ 
tions. So brave, and yet so gentle ; so witty, yet so in¬ 
offensive ; so humane, so civil, so genteel, so handsome ! 
What signifies his being base born, when compared with 
such qualifications as these ?” “ Base born ? What do you 

mean?” said the aunt, “ Mr. Blifil base born!” Sophia 
turned instantly pale at this name, and faintly repeated it. 
Upon which the aunt cried, “ Mr. Blifil—ay, Mr. Blifil, of 
whom else have we been talking?” “ Good heavens,” 
answered Solipia, ready to sink, “ of Mr. Jones, I thought ; 
I am sure I know no other who deserves—” “ I protest,” 

cries the aunt, “ you frighten me in your turn. Is it 
Mr. Jones, and not Mr. Blifil, who is the object of your 
affection?” “ Mr. Blifil!” repeated Sophia. “ Sure it 
is impossible you can be in earnest ; if your are, I am the 



TOM .TOMES: A FOUXDLTNO. 


291 


most miserable woman alive.” Mrs. Western now stood a 
few moments silent, while sparks of fiery rage flashed from 
her eyes. At length, collecting all her force of voice, she 
thundered forth in the following articulate sounds : 

“ And is it possible you can think of disgracing your 
family by allying yourself to a bastard ? Can the blood of 
the Western submit to such contamination ? If you have 
not sense sufficient to restrain such monstrous inclinations, 
I thought the pride of our family would have prevented you 
from giving the least encouragement to so base an affec¬ 
tion ; much less did I imagine you would ever have had the 
assurance to own it to my face.” 

“ Madam,” answered Sophia, trembling, u what I have 
said you have extorted from me. I do not remember to 
have ever mentioned the name of Mr. Jones with approba¬ 
tion to any one before ; nor should I now had I not conceived 
he had your approbation. Whatever were my thoughts 
of that poor unhappy young man, I intended to have car¬ 
ried them with me to my grave—to that grave where only 
now, I find, I am to seek repose.” Here she sunk down 
in her chair, drowned in her tears, and, in all the moving 
silence of unutterable grief, presented a spectacle which 
must have affected almost the hardest heart. 

All this tender sorrow, however, raised no compassion in 
her aunt. On the contrary, she now fell into the most vio¬ 
lent rage. “ And I would rather,” she cried, in a most 
vehement voice, “ follow you to your grave than I would 
see you disgrace yourself and your family by such a match. 
O heavens ! could I have ever suspected that I should live 
to hear a niece of mine declare a passion for such a fellow ? 
You are the first—yes, Miss Western, you are the first of 
your name who ever entertained so grovelling a thought. 
A family so noted for the prudence of its women”—here 
she ran on a full quarter of an hour, till, having exhausted 



292 


THE HISTORY OF 


her breath rather than her rage, she concluded with threat¬ 
ening to go immediately and acquaint her brother. 

Sophia then threw herself at her feet, and laying hold of 
her hands, begged her with tears to conceal what she had 
drawn from her, urging the violence of her father’s tem¬ 
per, and protesting that no inclinations of hers should ever 
prevail with her to do anything which might offend him. 

Mrs. Western stood a moment looking at her, and then, 
having recollected herself, said, “ That on one considera¬ 
tion only she would keep the secret from her brother ; and 
this was, that Sophia should promise to entertain Mr. Blifil 
that very afternoon as her lover, and to regard him as the 
person who was to be her husband.” 

Poor Sophia was too much in her aunt’s power to deny 
her anything positively ; she was obliged to promise that 
she would see Mr. Blifil, and be as civil to him as possible ; 
but begged her aunt that the match might not be hurried 
on. She said, “ Mr. Blifil was by no means agreeable to 
her, and she hoped her father would be prevailed on not to 
make her the most wretched of women.” 

Mrs. Western assured her “ That the match was entirely 
argeed upon, and that nothing could or should prevent it. 
I must own,” said she, “ I looked on it as on a matter of 
indifference ; nay, perhaps, had some scruples about it be¬ 
fore, which were actually got over by my thinking it highly 
agreeable to your own inclinations ; but now I regard it as 
the most eligible thing in the world ; nor shall there be, if 
I can prevent it, a moment of time lost on the occasion.” 

Sophia replied, “ Delay at least, madam, I may expect 
from both your goodness and my father’s. Surely you 
will give me time to endeavor to get the better of so strong 
a disinclination as I have at present to this person.” 

The aunt answered, “ She knew too much of the world 
to be so deceived ; that as she was sensible another man had 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


293 


her affections, she should persuade Mr. Western to hasten 
the match as much as possible. It would be bad politics, 
indeed,’’ added she, u to protract a siege when the enemy’s 
army is at hand, and in danger of relieving it. No, no, 
Sophy,” said she, “ as I am convinced you have a violent 
passion which you can never satisfy with honor, I will do all 
I can to put your honor out of the care of your family : for 
when you are married those matters will belong only to the 
consideration of your husband. I hope, child, you will al¬ 
ways have prudence enough to act as becomes you ; but if 
you should not, marriage hath saved many a woman from 
ruin. 

Sophia well understood what her aunt meant ; but did 
not think proper to make her an answer. II owever, she 
took a resolution to see Mr. Blifil, and to behave to him as 
civilly as she could, for on that condition only she ob¬ 
tained a promise from her aunt to keep secret the liking 

which her ill-fortune, rather than any scheme of Mrs. Wes- 

' «/ 

tern, had unhappily drawn from her. 


CHAPTER VI. 

CONTAINING A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SOPHIA AND MRS. HONOUR, 
WHICH MAY A LITTLE RELIEVE THOSE TENDER AFFECTIONS 
WHICH THE FOREGOING SCENE MAY HAVE RAISED IN THE 
MIND OF A GOOD-NATURED READER. 

Mrs. Western having obtained that promise from her 
niece which we have seen in the last chapter, withdrew ; 
and presently after arrived Mrs. Honour. She was at work 
in a neighboring apartment, and had been summoned to 
the key-hole by some vociferation in the preceding dia¬ 
logue, where she had continued during the remaining part 
of it. At her entry into the room she found Sophia stand- 






294 


THE HISTORY OF 


ing motionless, with the tears trickling from her eyes. 
Upon which she immediately ordered a proper quantity of 
tears into her own eyes, and then began, “ O Gemini, my 
dear lady, what is the matter?” “ Nothing,” cries So 
pliia. “ Nothing ! O dear madam !” answers Honour, “ you 
must not tell me that, when your ladyship is in this taking, 
and when there hath been such a preamble between your 
ladyship and Madam Western.” “ Don’t tease me,” cries 
Sophia ; “I tell you nothing is the matter. Good heav¬ 
ens ! why was I born!” “Nay, madam,” says Mrs. 
Honour, “ you shall never persuade me that your la’sliip can 
lament vourself so for nothing. To be sure I am but a ser- 
vant ; but to be sure I have been always faithful to your 
ladyship, and to be sure I would serve your la’ship with my 
life.” “ My dear Honour,” says Sophia, “ ’tis not in thy 
power to be of any service to me. I am irretrievably un¬ 
done.” “ Heaven forbid !” answered the waiting-woman ; 
“but if I can’t be of any service to you, pray tell me, 
madam—it will be some comfort to me to know—pray, 
dear ma’am, tell me what’s the matter.” “My father,” 
cries Sophia, “ is going to marry me to a man I both de¬ 
spise and hate.” “ O dear, ma’am,” answered the other, 
“ who is this wicked man ? for to be sure he is very bad, 
or your la’ship would not despise him.” “His name is 
poison to my tongue,” repiled Sophia : “ thou wilt know 
it too soon.” Indeed, to confess the truth, she knew it 
already, and therefore was not very inquisitive as to that 
point. She then proceeded thus : “I don’t pretend to give 
your la’ship advice, whereof your la’ship knows much bet¬ 
ter than I can pretend to, being but a servant ; but, i-fack- 
ins ! no father in England should marry me against my 
consent. And, to be sure, the ’squire is so good, that if he 
did but know your la'sliip despises and hates the young 
man, to be sure he would not desire you to marry him. And 
if your la’ship would but give me leave to tell my master so. 




295 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

To be sure, it would be more properer to come from your 
own mouth ; but as your la’ship doth not care to foul your 
tongue with his nasty name.” “ You are mistaken, Hon¬ 
our,” says Sophia ; “ my father was determined before lie 
ever thought fit to mention it to me.” “ More shame for 
him, ’ ’ cries Honour : 6 6 you are to go to bed to him, and not 
master ; and thof a man may be a very proper man, yet 
every woman mayn’t think him handsome alike. I am sure 
my master would never act in this manner of his own head. 
I wish some people would trouble themselves only with what 
belongs to them ; they would not, I believe, like to be 
served so if it was their own case ; for though 1 am a maid, 
I can easily believe as how all men are not equally agree¬ 
able. And what signifies your la’ship having so great a 
fortune, if you can’t please yourself with the man you think 
most handsomest ? Well, I say nothing ; but to be sure it 
is a pity some folks had not been better born ; nay, as for 
that matter, I should not mind it myself ; but then there is 
is not so much money ; and what of that ? your la’ship hath 
money enough for both ; and where can your la’sliip be¬ 
stow your fortune better ? for to be sure every one must al¬ 
low that he is the most handsomest, charmingest, finest, tall¬ 
est, properest man in the world.” “What do you mean 
by running on in this manner to me ?” cries Sophia, with a 
very grave countenance. “ Have I ever given any en¬ 
couragement for these liberties ?” “ Hay, ma’am, 1 ask 

pardon ; I meant no harm, ’ ’ answered she ; ‘ ‘ but to be sure 
the poor gentleman hath run in my head ever since I saw 
him this morning. To be sure, if your ladyship had but 
seen him just now you must have pitied him. Poor gen¬ 
tleman ! I wishes some misfortune hath not happened to 
him ; for he hath been walking about with his arms across, 
and looking so melancholy, all this morning : I vow and 
protest it made me almost cry to see him.” “ To see 
whom?” says Sophia. “ Poor Mr. Jones,” answered 



THE HISTORY OF 


296 

Honour. u See liim ! why, where did you see him ?” cries 
Sophia. u By the canal, ma’am,” says Honour. “ There 
he hath been walking all this morning, and at last there he 
laid himself down ; I believe he lies there still. To be 
sure, if it had not been for my modesty, being a maid, as 
I am, I should have gone and sjDoke to him. Do, ma’am, 
let me go, and see, only for a fancy, whether he is there 
still.” “ Pugh !” says Sophia. “ There ! no, no ; what 
should he do there ? He is gone before this time, to be 
sure. Besides, why—what—why should you go to see ? be¬ 
sides, I want you for something else. Go, fetch me my hat 
and gloves. I shall walk with my aunt in the grove before 
dinner.” Honour did immediately as she was bid, and So¬ 
phia put her hat on ; when, looking in the glass,- she fancied 
the ribbon with which her hat was tied did not become her, 
and so sent her maid back again for a ribbon of a different 
color ; and then givingMrs. Honour repeated charges not to 
leave her work on any account, as she said it was in violent 
haste, and must be finished that very day, she muttered 
something more about going to the grove, and then sal¬ 
lied out the contrary way, and walked, as fast as her ten¬ 
der trembling limbs could carry her, directly towards the 
canal. 

Jones had been there as Mrs. Honour had told her ; he 
had indeed spent two hours there that morning in melan¬ 
choly contemplation on his Sophia, and had gone out from 
the garden at one door the moment she entered it at 
another. So that those unlucky minutes which had been 
spent in changing the ribbons had prevented the lovers 
from meeting at this time—a most unfortunate accident, 
from which my fair readers will not fail to draw a very 
wholesome lesson. And here I strictly forbid all male crit¬ 
ics to intermeddle with a circumstance which I have re¬ 
counted only for the sake of the ladies, and upon which 
they only are at liberty to comment. 





TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


29? 


CHAPTEE VII. 

A PICTURE OF FORMAL COURTSHIP IN MINIATURE, AS IT ALWAYS 

OUGHT TO BE DRAWN, AND A SCENE OF A TENDERER KIND 

PAINTED AT FULL LENGTH. 

It was well remarked by one (and perhaps by more) 
that misfortunes do not come single. This wise maxim was 
now verified by Sophia, who was not only disappointed of 
seeing the man she loved, but had the vexation of being 
obliged to dress herself out, in order to receive a visit from 
the man she hated. 

That afternoon Mr. Western, for the first time, acquaint¬ 
ed his daughter with his intention, telling her he knew 
very well that she had heard it before from her aunt. So¬ 
phia looked very grave upon this, nor could she prevent a 
few pearls from stealing into her eyes. “ Come, come,” 
says Western, “ none of your maidenish airs ; I know all ; 
I assure you sister hath told me all. 

“ Is it possible, says Sophia, “ that my aunt can have be¬ 
trayed me already?” u Ay, ay,” says Western; u be¬ 
trayed you ! ay. Why, you betrayed yourself yesterday at 
dinner. You showed your fancy very plainly, I think. 
But you young girls never know what you would be at. 
So you cry because I am going to marry you to the man 
you are in love with ! Your mother, I remember, whim¬ 
pered and whined just in the same manner ; but it was all 
over within twenty-four hours after we were married : Mr. 
Blifil is a brisk young man, and will soon put an end to 
your squeamislmess. Come, cheer up, cheer up ; I expect 
un every minute. 

Sophia was now convinced that her aunt had behaved 
honorably to her ; and she determined to go through that 
disagreeable afternoon with as much resolution as possible, 




298 THE HISTORY OF 

and without giving the least suspicion in the world to her 
father. 

Mr. Blifil soon arrived ; and Mr. Western soon after 
withdrawing, left the young couple together. 

Here a long silence of near a quarter of an hour ensued, 
for the gentleman who was to begin the conversation had 
all the unbecoming modesty which consists in bashfulness. 
He often attempted to speak, and as often supj^ressed his 
words just at the very point of utterance. At last out they 
broke in a torrent of far-fetched and liigli-strained compli¬ 
ments, which were answered on her side by downcast looks, 
half bows, and civil monosyllables. Blifil, from his inex¬ 
perience in the ways of women, and from his conceit of 
himself, took this behavior for a modest assent to his court¬ 
ship ; and when, to shorten a scene which she could no lon¬ 
ger support, Sophia rose up and left the room, he imputed 
that, too, merely to bashfulness, and comforted himself that 
he should soon have enough of her company. 

He was indeed perfectly well satisfied with his prospect 
of success ; for as to that entire and absolute possession of 
the heart of his mistress which romantic lovers require, the 
very idea of it never entered his head. Her fortune and 
her person were the sole objects of his wishes, of which he 
made no doubt soon to obtain the absolute property, as 
Mr. Western’s mind was so earnestly bent on the match, 
and as he well knew the strict obedience which Sophia was 
always ready to pay to her father’s will, and the greater 
still which her father would exact, if there was occasion. 
This authority, therefore, together with the charms which 
he fancied in his own person and conversation, could not 
fail the thought of succeeding with a young lady, whose in¬ 
clinations were, he doubted not, entirely disengaged. 

Of Jones he certainly had not even the least jealousy ; 
and I have often thought it wonderful that he had not. 
Perhaps he imagined the character which Jones bore all 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


299 


over tlie country (how justly, let the reader determine), of 
being one of the wildest fellows in England, might render 
him odious to a lady of the most exemplary modesty. Per¬ 
haps his suspicions might be laid asleep by the behavior of 
• Sophia, and of Jones himself, when they were all in com¬ 
pany together. Lastly, and indeed principally, he was well 
assured there was not another self in the case. He fancied 
that he knew Jones to the bottom, and had in reality a 
great contempt for his understanding, for not being more 
attached to his own interest. lie had no apprehension 
that Jones was in love with Sophia ; and as for any lucra¬ 
tive motives, he imagined they would sway very little with 
so silly a fellow. Blitil, moreover, thought the affair of 
Molly Seagrim still went on, and indeed believed it would 
end in marriage ; for Jones really loved him from his 
childhood, and had kept no secret from him, till his beha¬ 
vior on the sickness of Mr. Allworthy had entirely alienated 
his heart ; and it was by means of the quarrel which had 
ensued on this occasion, and which was not yet reconciled, 
that Mr. Blifil knew nothing of the alteration which had 
happened in the affection which Jones had formerly borne 
towards Molly. 

From these reasons, therefore, Mr. Blifil saw no bar to 
his success with Sophia. He concluded her behavior was 
like that of all other young ladies on a first visit from a 
lover, and it had indeed entirely answered his expectations. 

Mr. Western took care to waylay the lover at his exit 
from his mistress. He found him so elevated with his suc¬ 
cess, so enamored with his daughter, and so satisfied with 
her reception of him, that the old gentleman began to caper 
and dance about his hall, and by many other antic actions 
to express the extravagance of his joy ; for he had not the 
least command over any of his passions ; and that which 
had at any time the ascendant in his mind hurried him to 
the wildest excesses. 







300 


THE HISTORY OF 


As soon as Blifil was departed, wliieli was not till after 
many hearty kisses and embraces bestowed on him by West- 
ern, the good scjnire went instantly in cpiest of his daugh¬ 
ter, whom he no sooner found than he poured forth the most 
extravagant raptures, bidding her choose what clothes and 
jewels she pleased ; and declaring that he had no other use 
for fortune but to make her happy. lie then caressed her 
again and again with the utmost profusion of fondness, 
called her by the most endearing names, and protested she 
was his only joy on earth. 

Sophia perceiving her father in this fit of affection, which 
she did not absolutely know the reason of (for fits of fond¬ 
ness were not unusual to him, though this was rather more 
violent than ordinary), thought she should never have a 
better opportunity of disclosing herself than at present, as 
far at least as regarded Mr. Blifil; and she too well foresaw 
the necessity which she should soon be under of coming to 
a full explanation. After having thanked the squire, there¬ 
fore, for all his professions of kindness, she added, with a 
look full of inexpressible softness, “ And is it possible my 
papa can be so good to place all his joy in his Sophy’s hap¬ 
piness ?” which Western having confirmed by a great oath, 
and a kiss ; she then laid hold of his hand, and, falling on 
her knees, after many warm and passionate declarations of 
affection and duty, she begged him “ not to make her the 
most miserable creature on earth by forcing her to marry a 
man whom she detested. This I entreat of you, dear sir,” 
said she, u for your sake, as well as my own, since you are 
so very kind to tell me your happiness depends on mine.” 
“ How ! what !” says Western, staring wildly. u Oh ! 
sir,” continued she, “ not only your poor Sophy’s happi¬ 
ness ; her very life, her being, depends upon your granting 
her request. I cannot live with Mr. Blifil. To force me 
into this marriage would be killing me.” “ You can’t live 
with Mr. Blifil?” says Western. “ Ho, upon my soul I 


301 


TOM JOMES: A FOUNDLING. 

can’t,” answered Sophia. “ Then die and be d—d,” cries 
he, spurning her from him. “ Oh ! sir,” cries Sophia, 
catching hold of the skirt of his coat, “ take pity on me, 1 
beseech you. Don’t look and say such cruel— Can you 
be unmoved while you see your Sophy in this dreadful 
condition ? Can the best of fathers break my heart \ 
Will lie kill me by the most painful, cruel, lingering 
death?” “Pooh! pooh!” cries the squire; “ all stud 
and nonsense ; all maidenish tricks. Kill you, indeed ! 
Will marriage kill you ?” “ Oh ! sir,” answered Sophia, 

such a marriage is worse than death. He is not even in¬ 
different ; I hate and detest him.” “If you detest un 
never so much,” cries Western, “ you shall ha’un.” This 
he bound by an oath too shocking to repeat ; and after 
many violent asseverations, concluded in these words : “1 
am resolved upon the match, and unless you consent to it 
I will not give you a groat, not a single farthing ; no, 
though I saw you expiring with famine in the street, I 
would not relieve you with a morsel of bread. This is my 
fixed resolution, and so I leave you to consider on it. ” He 
then broke from her with such violence that her face 
dashed against the floor ; and he burst directly out of the 
room, leaving poor Sophia prostrate on the ground. 

When Western came into the hall, he there found 
Jones, who, seeing his friend looking wild, pale, and al¬ 
most breathless, could not forbear inquiring the reason of 
all these melancholy appearances. Upon which the squire 
immediately acquainted him with the whole matter, con¬ 
cluding with bitter denunciations against Sophia, and very 
pathetic lamentations of the misery of all fathers who are 
so unfortunate as to have daughters. 

Jones, to whom all the resolutions which had been taken 
in favor of Blifil were yet a secret, was at first almost struck 
dead with this relation ; but recovering his spirits a little, 
mere despair, as he afterwards said, inspired him to men- 





302 


THE HISTORY OF 


tion a matter to Mr. Western which seemed to require 
more impudence than a human forehead was ever gifted 
with. He desired leave to go to Sophia, that lie might 
endeavor to obtain her concurrence with her father’s in¬ 
clinations. 

If the squire had been as quick-sighted as he was remark¬ 
able for the contrary, passion might at present very well 
have blinded him. He thanked Jones for offering to un¬ 
dertake the office, and said, “ Go, go, prithee, try what 
canst do and then swore many execrable oaths that he 
would turn her out of doors unless she consented to the 
match. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE MEETING BETWEEN JONES AND SOPHIA. 

Jones departed instantly in quest of Sophia, whom he 
found just risen from the ground, where her father had 
left her, with the tears trickling from her eyes, and the 
blood running from her lips. He presently ran to her, and 
with a voice full at once of tenderness and terror, cried, 
“ O my Sophia, what means this dreadful sight ?” She 
looked softly at him for a moment before she spoke, and 
then said, “ Mr. Jones, for heaven’s sake how came you 
here? Leave me, I beseech you this moment.” “ Do 
not,” says he, “ impose so harsh a command upon me—my 
heart bleeds faster than those lips. O Sophia, how easily 
could I drain my veins to preserve one drop of that dear 
blood.” “I have too many obligations to you already,” 
answered she, “ for sure you meant them such.” Here 
she looked at him tenderly almost a minute, and then burst¬ 
ing into an agony, cried, “ Oh, Mr. Jones, why did you 
save my life ? my death would have been happier for us 
both.” “ Happier for us both!” cried he. “ Could 





303 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

racks or wheels kill me so painfully as Sophia’s—I cannot 
bear the dreadful sound. Do I live but for her ?” Both 
his voice and looks were full of inexpressible tenderness 
when he spoke these words ; and at the same time he laid 
gently hold of her hand, which she did not withdraw from 
him ; to say the truth, she hardly knew what she did or 
suffered. A few moments now passed in silence between 
these lovers, while his eyes were eagerly fixed on Sophia, 
and hers declining towards the ground ; at last she recov¬ 
ered strength enough to desire him again to leave her, for 
that her certain ruin would be the consequence of their 
being found together ; adding, “ Oh, Mr. Jones, you know 
not, you know not what hath passed this cruel afternoon.” 
“I know all, my Sophia,” answered he; “ your cruel 
father hath told me all, and he himself hath sent me-hither 
to you.” “ My father sent you to me!” replied she: 
“sure you dream.” “Would to heaven,” cries he, “it 
was but a dream ! Oh, Sophia, your father hath sent me 
to you, to be an advocate for my odious rival, to solicit you 
in his favor. I took any means to get access to you. O 
speak to me, Sophia ! comfort my bleeding heart. Sure 
no one ever loved, ever doated like me. Do not unkindly 
withhold this dear, this soft, this gentle hand—one mo¬ 
ment, perhaps, tears you forever from me—nothing less 
than this cruel occasion could, I believe, have ever con¬ 
quered the respect and awe with which you have inspired 
me.” She stood a moment silent, and covered with con¬ 
fusion ; then lifting up her eyes gently towards him, she 
cried, “ What would Mr. Jones have me say?” “O do 
but promise,” cries he, “ that you never will give yourself 
to Blifil.” “Name not,” answered she, “the detested 
sound. Be assured I never will give him what is in my 
power to withhold from him.” “Now then,” cries he, 

“ while you are so perfectly kind, go a little farther, and 
add that I may hope.” “ Alas !” says she, “ Mr. Jones, 













304 


THE HISTORY OF 




wliitlier will you drive me ? What hope have I to bestow \ 
You know my father’s intentions.” “ But I know,” an¬ 
swered he, “ your compliance with them cannot be com¬ 
pelled.” “ What,” says she, “ must be the dreadful con- 
secpience of my disobedience ? My own ruin is my least 
concern. I cannot bear the thoughts of being the cause of 
my father’s misery.” “He is himself the cause,” cries 
Jones, “ by exacting a power over you which Nature hath 
not given him. Think on the misery which I am to suffer 
if I am to lose you, and see on which side pity will turn 
the balance.” “Think of it!” replied she : “can you 
imagine T do not feel the ruin which I must bring on you 
should I comply with your desire ? It is that thought which 
gives me resolution to bid you fly from me forever, and 
avoid your own destruction.” “ I fear no destruction,” 
cries he, “ but the loss of Sophia. If you would save me 
from the most bitter agonies, recall that cruel sentence. 
Indeed, I can never part with you, indeed I cannot.” 

The lovers now stood both silent and trembling, Sophia 


being unable to withdraw her hand from Jones, and he al¬ 


most as unable to hold it ; when the scene, which I believe 
some of my readers will think had lasted long enough, was 
interrupted by one of so different a nature that we shall re¬ 
serve the relation of it for a different chapter. 


CHAPTEB IX. 



BEING OF A MUCH MORE TEMPESTUOUS KIND THAN THE FORMER. 


Before we proceed with what now happened to our 
lovers, it may be proper to recount what had passed in the 
hall during their tender interview. 

Soon after Jones had left Mr. Western in the manner 
above mentioned, his sister came to him, and was presently 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


305 


informed of all that had passed between her brother and 
Sophia relating to Blifil. 

This behavior in her niece the good lady construed to be 
an absolute breach of the condition on which she had en¬ 
gaged to keep her love for Mr. Jones a secret. She con¬ 
sidered herself, therefore, at full liberty to reveal all she 
knew to the squire, which she immediately did in the most 
explicit terms, and without any ceremony or preface. 

The idea of a marriage between Jones and his daughter 
had never once entered into the squire’s head, either in the 
warmest minutes of his alfection towards tint young man, 
or from suspicion, or on any other occasion. He did in¬ 
deed consider a parity of fortune and circumstances to be 
physically as necessary an ingredient in marriage as differ¬ 
ence of sexes, or any other essential ; and had no more ap¬ 
prehension of his daughter’s falling in love with a poor 
man than with any animal of a different species. 

He became, therefore, like one thunderstruck at his sis¬ 
ter's relation. He was at first incapable of making any 
answer, having been almost deprived of his breath by the 
violence of the surprise. This, however, soon returned, 
and, as is usual in other cases after an intermission, with re¬ 
doubled force and fury. 

The first use he made of the power of speech, after his 
recovery .from the sudden effects of his astonishment, was 
to discharge a round volley of oaths and imprecations. 
After which he proceeded hastily to the apartment where 
lie expected to find the lovers, and murmured, or rather in¬ 
deed roared forth, intentions of revenge every step he 
w r ent 

As when two doves, or two wood-pigeons, or as when 
Strephon and Phyllis (for that comes nearest to the mark) 
are retired into some pleasant solitary grove, to enjoy the 
delightful conversation of Love, that bashful boy, who can¬ 
not speak in public, and is never a good companion to more 




306 


THE HIS TOR Y OF 


than two at a time ; here, while every object is serene, 
should hoarse thunder burst suddenly through the shat¬ 
tered clouds, and rumbling roll along the sky, the fright¬ 
ened maid starts from the mossy bank or verdant turf, the 
pale livery of death succeeds the red regimentals in which 
Love had before dressed her cheeks, fear shakes her whole 
frame, and her lover scarce supports her trembling, totter¬ 
ing limbs. 

Or as when two gentlemen, strangers to the wondrous wit 
of the place, are cracking a bottle together at some inn or 
tavern at Salisbury, if the great Dowdy, who acts the part 
of a madman as well as some of his setters-on do that of a 
fool, should rattle his chains, and dreadfully hum forth the 
grumbling catch along the gallery ; the frighted strangers 
stand aghast ; scared at the horrid sound, they seek some 
place of shelter from the approaching danger ; and if the 
well-barred windows did admit their exit, would venture 
their necks to escape the threatening fury now coming upon 
them. 

So trembled poor Sophia, so turned she pale at the noise 
of her father, who, in a voice most dreadful to hear, came 
on swearing, cursing, and vowing the destruction of Jones. 
To say the truth, I believe the youth himself would, from 
some prudent considerations, have preferred another place 
of abode at this time, had his terror on Sophia’s* account 
given him liberty to reflect a moment on what any other 
ways concerned himself, than as his love made him partake 
whatever affected her. 

And now the squire, having burst open the door, beheld 
an object which instantly suspended all his fury against 
Jones ; this was the ghastly appearance of Sophia, who had 
fainted away in her lover’s arms. This tragical sight Mr. 
Western no sooner beheld than all his rage forsook him ; 
he roared for help with his utmost violence ; ran first to 
his daughter, then back to the door calling for water, and 








SQUIRE WESTERN’S RAGE WITH TOM JONES. 






























































































307 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

then back again to Sophia, never considering in whose 
arms she then was, nor perhaps once recollecting that there 
was such a person in the world as Jones ; for indeed I be¬ 
lieve the present circumstances of his daughter were now 
the sole consideration which employed his thoughts. 

Mrs. Western and a great number of servants soon came 
to the assistance of Sophia with water, cordials, and every¬ 
thing necessary on those occasions. These were applied 
with such success that Sophia in a very few minutes began 
to recover, and all the symptoms of life to return. Upon 
which she was presently led off by her own maid and Mrs. 
Western ; nor did that good lady depart without leaving 
some wholesome admonitions with her brother, on the 
dreadful effects of his passion, or, as she pleased to call it, 
madness. 

The squire, perhaps, did not understand this good advice, 
as it was delivered in obscure hints, shrugs, and notes of 
admiration ; at least, if he did understand it, he profited 
very little by it ; for no sooner was he cured of his imme¬ 
diate fears for his daughter than he relapsed into his for¬ 
mer frenzy, which must have produced an immediate bat¬ 
tle with Jones, had not parson Supple, who was a very 
strong man, been present, and by mere force restrained the 
squire from acts of hostility. 

The moment Sophia was departed, Jones advanced in a 
very suppliant manner to Mr. Western, whom the parson 
held in his arms, and begged him to be pacified ; for that, 
while he continued in such a passion, it would be impossi¬ 
ble to give him any satisfaction. 

“ I wull have satisfaction o’ thee,” answered the squire ; 
“ so doff thy clothes. At unt half a man, and I’ll lick 
thee as well as wast ever licked in thy life.” He then be¬ 
spattered the youth with abundance of that language which 
passes between country gentlemen who embrace opposite 
sides of the question ; with frequent applications to him to 


308 


THE HISTORY OF 


salute that part which is generally introduced into all con¬ 
troversies that arise among the lower orders of the English 
gentry at horse-races, cock-matches, and other public 
places. Allusions to this part are likewise often made for 
the sake of the jest. And here, I believe, the wit is gener¬ 
ally misunderstood. In reality, it lies in desiring another 
to kiss your a— for having just before threatened to kick 
his ; for I have observed very accurately that no one ever 
desires you to kick that which belongs to himself, nor offers 
to kiss this part in another. 

It may likewise seem surprising that in the many thou¬ 
sand kind invitations of this sort, which every one who 
hath conversed with country gentlemen must have heard, 
no one, I believe, hath ever seen a single instance where 
the desire hath been complied with—a great instance of 
their want of politeness ; for in town nothing can be more 
common than for the finest gentlemen to perform this cere¬ 
mony every day to their superiors, without having that favor 
once requested of them. 

To all such wit Jones very calmly answered, “ Sir, this 
usage may perhaps cancel every other obligation you have 
conferred on me ; but there is one you can never cancel ; 
nor will I be provoked by your abuse to lift my hand 
against the father of Sophia. ” 

At these words the squire grew still more outrageous 
than before ; so that the parson begged Jones to retire, 
saying, “ You behold, sir, how he waxetli wroth at your 
abode here ; therefore let me pray you not to tarry any lon¬ 
ger. His anger is too much kindled for you to commune 
with him at present. You had better, therefore, conclude 
your visit, and refer what matters you have to urge in your 
behalf to some other opportunity.” 

Jones accepted this advice with thanks, and immediately 
departed. The squire now regained the liberty of his 
hands, and so much temper as to express some satisfaction 




TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


309 


in the restraint which had been laid upon him, declaring 
that he should certainly have beat his brains out, and add¬ 
ing, u It would have vexed one confoundedly to have been 
hanged for such a rascal. ’ ’ 

The parson now began to triumph in the success of his 
peacemaking endeavors, and proceeded to read a lecture 
against anger, which might perhaps rather have tended to 
raise than to quiet that passion in some hasty minds. This 
lecture he enriched with many valuable quotations from the 
ancients, particularly from Seneca, who hath indeed so 
well handled this passion that none but a very angry man 
can read him without great pleasure and profit. The doc¬ 
tor concluded this harangue with the famous story of Alex¬ 
ander and Clitus ; but as I find that entered in my com¬ 
monplace under title Drunkenness, I shall not insert it 
here. 

The squire took no notice of this story, nor perhaps of 
anything he said ; for he interrupted him before he had 
finished, by calling for a tankard of beer, observing 
(which is perhaps as true as any observation on this fever 
of the mind) that anger makes a man dry. 

No sooner had the squire swallowed a large draught than 
he renewed the discourse on Jones, and declared a resolu¬ 
tion of going the next morning early to acquaint Mr. All- 
worthy. ITis friend would have dissuaded him from this, 
from the mere motive of good-nature ; but his dissuasion 
had no other effect than to produce a large volley of oaths 
and curses, which greatly shocked the pious ears of Sup¬ 
ple ; but he did not dare to remonstrate against a privilege 
which the squire claimed as a freeborn Englishman. To 
say truth, the parson submitted to please his palate at the 
squire’s table, at the expense of suffering now and then this 
violence to his ears. He contented himself with thinking 
he did not promote this evil practice, and that the squire 
would not swear an oath the less, if he never entered with- 




310 THE HIS TOBY OF 

in his gates. However, though he was not guilty of ill- 
manners by rebuking a gentleman in his own house, he 
paid him off obliquely in the pulpit : which had not, in¬ 
deed, the good effect of working a reformation in the 
squire himself ; yet it so far operated on his conscience 
that he put the laws very severely in execution against 
others, and the magistrate was the only person in the par¬ 
ish who could swear with impunity. 


CHAPTER X. 

IN WHICH MR. WESTERN VISITS MR. ALL WORTHY. 

Mr. Allw t orthy was now retired from breakfast with 
his nephew, well satisfied with the report of the young gen¬ 
tleman’s successful visit to Sophia (for he greatly desired 
the match, more on account of the young lady’s character 
than of her riches), when Mr. Western broke abruptly in 
upon them, and without any ceremony began as fol¬ 
lows : 

“ There, you have done a fine piece of work truly ! You 
have brought up your bastard to a fine purpose ; not that I 
believe you have had any hand in it neither, that is, as a 
man may say, designedly ; but there is a fine kettle-of-fish 
made on’t up at our house.” “ What can be the matter, 
Mr. Western ?” said All worthy. u 0, matter enow of all 
conscience : my daughter hath fallen in love with your bas¬ 
tard, that’s all ; but I won’t ge her a liapeny, not the twen¬ 
tieth part of a brass varden. I always thought wliat would 
come o’ breeding up a bastard like a gentleman, and letting 
un come about to vok’s houses. It’s well vor un I could 
not get at un : I’d a lick’d un ; I’d a spoil’d his caterwau¬ 
ling ; I’d a taught the son of a whore to meddle with meat 
for his master. He shan’t ever have a morsel of meat of 




TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 311 

mine, or a varden to buy it : if she will ha un, one smock 
shall be her portion. I’d sooner ge my esteate to the sink- 
ing fund, that it may be sent to Hanover to corrupt our 
nation with.” 66 I am heartily sorry,” cries Allworthy. 
u Pox o’ your sorrow,” says Western; “ it will do me 
abundance of good when I have lost my only child, my 
poor Sophy, that was the joy of my heart, and all the hope 
and comfort of my age ; but I am resolved I will turn her 
out o’ doors ; she shall beg, and starve, and rot in the 
streets. Hot one hapeny, not a liapeny shall she ever hae 
o’ mine. The son of a bitch was always good at finding a 
hare sitting, an be rotted to’n : I little thought what puss 
he was looking after ; but it shall be the worst he ever 
vound in his life. She shall be no better than carrion : the 
skin o’er is all he shall ha, and zu you may tell un. ” u I 
am in amazement,” cries Allworthy, “ at what you tell 
me, after what passed between my nephew and the young 
lady no longer ago than yesterday.” “ Yes, sir,” answered 
Western, u it was after what passed between your nephew 
and she that the whole matter came out. Mr. Blitil there 
was no sooner gone than the son of a whore came lurching 
about the house. Little did I think when I used to love 
him for a sportsman that he was all the while a poaching 
after my daughter.” “ Why, truly,” says All worthy, “ I 
could wish you had not given him so many opportunities 
with her ; and you will do me the justice to acknowledge 
that I have always been averse to his staying so much at 
your house, though I own I had no suspicion of this 
kind.” “ Why, zounds,” cries Western, “ who could 
have thought it ? What the devil had she to do wi’n ? 
He did not come there a courting to her ; he came there a 
hunting with me.” “ But was it possible,” says Allwor¬ 
thy, ‘‘ that you should never discern any symptoms of love 
between them, when you have seen them so often to¬ 
gether ?” “ Never in my life, as I hope to be saved,” 


3 12 


T1IE HISTORY OF 


cries Western : “ I never so much as zeed him kiss her in 
ail my life ; and so far from courting her, he used rathei 
to be more silent when she was in company than at any 
other time ; and as for the girl, she was always less civil 
to’n than to any young man that came to the house. As to 
that matter, I am not more easy to be deceived than an¬ 
other ; I would not have you think I am, neighbor.” All¬ 
worthy could scarce refrain laughter at this ; but he re¬ 
solved to do a violence to himself ; for he perfectly well 
knew mankind, and had too much good-breeding and good¬ 
nature to offend the squire in his present circumstances. 
He then asked Western what he would have him do upon 
this occasion. To which the other answered, “ That he 
would have him keep the rascal away from his house, and 
that he would go and lock up the wench ; for he was re¬ 
solved to make her marry Mr. Bliffl in spite of her teeth.” 
He then shook Bliffl by the hand, and swore he would have 
no other son-in-law. Presently after he took his leave, 
saying his house was in such disorder that it was necessary 
for him to make haste home, to take care his daughter did 
not give him the slip ; and as for Jones, he swore if he 
caught him at his house he would qualify him to run for 
the geldings’ plate. 

When All worthy and Bliffl were again left together, a 
long silence ensued between them ; all which interval the 
young gentleman filled up with sighs, which proceeded 
partly from disappointment, but more from hatred ; for 
the success of Jones was much more grievous to him than 
the loss of Sophia. 

At length his uncle asked him what he was determined 
to do, and he answered in the following words : “ Alas ! 
sir, can it be a question what step a lover will take when 
reason and passion point different ways ? I am afraid it is 
too certain he will, in that dilemma, always follow the lat¬ 
ter. Reason dictates to me to quit all thoughts of a worn- 


TOM JONES: A FO UN EL IN G. 


313 


an who places her affections on another ; my passion bids 
me hope she may in time change her inclinations in my 
favor. Here, however, I conceive an objection may be 
raised, which, if it could not fully be answered, would to¬ 
tally deter me from any farther pursuit. I mean the injus¬ 
tice of endeavoring to. supplant another in a heart of which 
he seems already in possession ; but the determined resolu¬ 
tion of Mr. Western shows that, in this case, I shall, by so 
doing, promote the happiness of every party ; not only that 
of the parent, who will thus be preserved from the highest 
degree of misery, but of both the others, who must be un¬ 
done by this match. The lady, I am sure, will be undone 
in every sense ; for, besides the loss of most part of her 
own fortune, she will be not only married to a beggar, but 
the little fortune which her father cannot withhold from 
her will be scpiandered on that wench with whom I know 
he yet converses. Hay, that is a trifle ; for I know him to 
be one of the worst men in the world ; for had my dear 
uncle known what I have hitherto endeavored to conceal, 
he must have long since abandoned so profligate a wretch.” 
“ How !” said Allworthy; “ hath he done anything 
worse than I already know ? Tell me, I beseech you ?” 
“No,” replied Blifil ; “it is now past, and perhaps he 
may have repented of it.” “I command you, on your 
duty,” said Allworthy, “to tell me what you mean.” 
“ You know, sir,” says Blifil, “ I never disobeyed you ; 
but I am sorry I mentioned it, since it may now look like 
revenge, whereas, I thank heaven, no such motive ever 
entered my heart ; and if you oblige me to discover it, I 
must be his petitioner to you for your forgiveness. ” “I 
will have no conditions,” answered Allworthy ; “ I think 
I have shown tenderness enough towards him, and more 
perhaps than you ought to thank me for.” “More, in¬ 
deed, I fear, than he deserved,” cries Blifil ; “ for in the 
very day of your utmost danger, when myself and all the 


314 


THE HISTORY OF 


family were in tears, lie filled the house with riot and de¬ 
bauchery. He drank, and sung, and roared ; and when I 
gave him a gentle hint of the indecency of his actions, he 
fell into a violent passion, swore many oaths, called me ras¬ 
cal, and struck me.” “ How !” cries Allwortliy ; “ did 
he dare to strike you?” “I am sure,” cries Blifil, “I 
have forgiven him that long ago. I wish I could so easily 
forget his ingratitude to the best of benefactors ; and yet 
even that I hope you will forgive him, since he must have 
certainly been possessed with the devil ; for that very even¬ 
ing, as Mr. Thwackum and myself were taking the air in 
the fields, and exulting in the good symptoms which then 
first began to discover themselves, we unluckily saw him 
engaged with a wench in a manner not fit to be mentioned. 
Mr. Thwackum, with more boldness than prudence, ad¬ 
vanced to rebuke him, when (I am sorry to say it) he fell 
upon the worthy man, and beat him so outrageously that I 
wish he may have yet recovered the bruises. Nor was I 
without my share of the effects of his malice, while I en¬ 
deavored to protect my tutor ; but that I have long for¬ 
given ; nay, I prevailed with Mr. Thwackum to forgive 
him too, and not to inform you of a secret which I feared 
might be fatal to him. And now, sir, since I have unad¬ 
visedly dropped a hint of this matter, and your commands 
have obliged me to discover the whole, let me intercede 
with you for him.” “ O child !” said Allworthy, u I 
know not whether I should blame or applaud your good¬ 
ness, in concealing such villany a moment ; but where is 
Mr. Thwackum? Not that I want any confirmation of 
what you say ; but I will examine all the evidence of this 
matter, to justify to the world the example I am resolved 
to make of such a monster.” 

Thwackum was now sent for, and presently appeared. 
He corroborated every circumstance which the other had 
deposed ; nay, he produced the record upon his breast, 


3)5 


TOM .TOMES: A FOUNDLING. 

where the handwriting of Mr. Jones remained very legible 
in black and blue. He concluded with declaring to Mr. 
All worthy that he should have long since informed him 
of this matter had not Mr. Blitil, by the most earnest in¬ 
terpositions, prevented him. “ He is,” says he, “ an ex¬ 
cellent youth, though such forgiveness of enemies is car¬ 
rying the matter too far. ’ ’ 

In reality, Blitil had taken some pains to prevail with the 
parson, and to prevent the discovery at that time ; for 
which he had many reasons. He knew that the minds of 
men are apt to be softened and relaxed from their usual 
severity by sickness. Besides, he imagined that if the 
story was told when the fact was so recent, and the physi¬ 
cian about the house, who might have unravelled the real 
truth, he should never be able to give it the malicious turn 
which he intended. Again, he resolved to hoard up this 
business till the indiscretion of Jones should afford some 
additional complaints, for he thought the joint weight of 
many facts falling upon him together would be the most 
likely to crush him ; and he watched, therefore, some such 
opportunity as that with which fortune had now kindly pre¬ 
sented him. Lastly, by prevailing with Thwackum to con¬ 
ceal the matter for a time, he knew he should confirm an 
opinion of his friendshijj to Jones, which he had greatly la¬ 
bored to establish in Mr. Allworthy. 

CHAPTER XI. 

A SHORT CHAPTER ; BUT WHICH CONTAINS SUFFICIENT MATTER 
TO EFFECT THE GOOD-NATURED READER. 

It was Mr. Allworthy’s custom never to punish any one, 
not even to turn away a servant, in a passion. He re¬ 
solved, therefore, to delay passing sentence on Jones till the 
afternoon. 




THE HIST0It Y OF 


316 

The poor young man attended at dinner, as usual ; but 
his heart was too much loaded to suffer him to eat. His 
grief, too, was a good deal aggravated by the unkind looks 
of Mr. Allworthy, whence he concluded that Western had 
discovered the whole affair between him and Sophia ; but 
as to Mr. Blifil’s story, he had not the least apprehension ; 
for of much the greater part he was entirely innocent ; and 
for the residue, as he had forgiven and forgotten it him¬ 
self, so he suspected no remembrance on the other side. 
When dinner was over, and the servants departed, Mr. 
Allworthy began to harangue. He set forth, in a long 
speech, the many iniquities of which Jones had been guilty, 
particularly those which this day had brought to light ; and 
concluded by telling him, u That unless he could clear him¬ 
self of the charge, he was resolved to banish him his sight 
forever. ’ ’ 

Many disadvantages attended poor Jones in making his 
defence ; nay, indeed, he hardly knew his accusation ; for 
as Mr. Allworthy, in recounting the drunkenness, etc., 
while he lay ill, out of modesty sunk everything that re 
lated particularly to himself, which indeed principally con¬ 
stituted the crime ; J ones could not deny the charge. His 
heart was, besides, almost broken already ; and his spirits 
were so sunk that he could say nothing for himself ; but 
acknowledged the whole, and, like a criminal in despair, 
threw himself upon mercy, concluding, “ That though he 
must own himself guilty of many follies and inadverten¬ 
cies, he hoped he had done nothing to deserve what would 
be to him the greatest punishment in the world.” 

Allworthy answered, “ That he had forgiven him too 
often already, in compassion to his youth, and in hopes of 
his amendment ; that he now found he was an abandoned 
reprobate, and such as it would be criminal in any one to sup¬ 
port and encourage. “ Hay,” said Mr. Allworthy to him, 
“ your audacious attempt to steal away the young lady calls 



TOM JONES: A FOITNDLTNO. 


317 


upon me to justify my own character in punishing you. 
The world, who have already censured the regard I have 
shown for you, may think, with some color at least of jus¬ 
tice, that I connive at so base and barbarous an action—an 
action of which you must have known my abhorrence ; and 
which, had you had any concern for my ease and honor, as 
well as for my friendship, you would never have thought of 
undertaking. Fie upon it, young man ! indeed there is 
scarce any punishment ecpial to your crimes, and I can 
scarce think myself justifiable in what I am now going to 
.bestow on you. However, as I have educated you like a 
child of my own, I will not turn you naked into the world. 
When you open this paper, therefore, you will find some¬ 
thing which may enable you, with industry, to get an hon¬ 
est livelihood ; but if you employ it to worse purposes, I 
shall not think myself obliged to supply you farther, being 
resolved, from this day forward, to converse no more with 
you on any account. I cannot avoid saying there is no 
part of your conduct which I resent more than your ill- 
treatment of that good young man (meaning Blifil) who 
hath behaved with so much tenderness and honor towards 

; you-” 

These last words were a dose almost too bitter to be swal- 

} lowed. A flood of tears now gushed from the eyes of 
Jones, and every faculty of speech and motion seemed to 
have deserted him. Tt was some time before he was able 
to obey Allworthy’s peremptory commands of departing ; 
which he at length did, having first kissed his hands with a 
passion difficult to be affected, and as difficult to be de¬ 
scribed. 

The reader must be very weak if, when he considers the 
light in which Jones then appeared to Mr. Allworthy, he 
should blame the rigor of his sentence. And yet all the 
neighborhood, either from this weakness, or from some 
worse motive, condemned this justice and severity as the 







318 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


highest cruelty. Nay, the very persons who had before 
censured the good man for the kindness and tenderness j 
shown to a bastard (his own, according to the general opin¬ 
ion), now cried put as loudly against turning his own child < 
out of doors. The women especially were unanimous in 
taking the part of Jones, and raised more stories on the oc¬ 
casion than I have room, in this chapter, to set down. 

One thing must not be omitted, that, in their censures on 
this occasion, none ever mentioned the sum contained in j 
the paper which All worthy gave Jones, which was no less j 
than five hundred pounds ; but all agreed that he was sent 
away penniless, and some said naked, from the house of his 
inhuman father. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CONTAINING LOVE-LETTERS, ETC. 

Jones was commanded to leave the house immediately, 
and told that his clothes and everything else should be sent 
to him whithersoever he should order them. 

He accordingly set out, and walked above a mile, not re¬ 
garding, and indeed scarce knowing, whither he went. At 
length a little brook obstructing his passage, he threw him¬ 
self down by the side of it ; nor could he help muttering 
with some little indignation, “ Sure my father will not 
deny me this place to rest in !” 

Here he presently fell into the most violent agonies, tear¬ 
ing his hair from his head, and using most other actions 
which generally accompany fits of madness, rage, and de¬ 
spair. 

When he had in this manner vented the first emotions of 
passion, he began to come a little to himself. His grief 
now took another turn, and discharged itself in a gentler 







TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 319 

way, till lie became at last cool enough to reason with his 
passion, and to consider what steps were proper to be taken 
in his deplorable condition. 

And now the great doubt was, how to act with regain to 
Sophia. The thoughts of leaving her almost rent his heart 
asunder ; but the consideration of reducing her to ruin and 
beggary still racked him, if possible, more ; and if the vio¬ 
lent desire of possessing her person could have induced him 
to listen one moment to this alternative, still he was by no 
means certain of her resolution to indulge his wishes at so 
high an expense. The resentment of Mr. Allworthy, and 
the injury he must do to his quiet, argued strongly against 
this latter ; and lastly, the apparent impossibility of his 
success, even if he would sacrifice all these considerations to 
it, came to his assistance ; and thus honor at last, backed 
with despair, with gratitude to his benefactor, and with 
real love to his mistress, got the better of burning desire, 
and he resolved rather to quit Sophia than pursue her to 
her ruin. 

It is difficult for any who have not felt it to conceive 
the glowing warmth which tilled his breast on the first con¬ 
templation of this victory over his passion. Pride flattered 
him so agreeably that his mind perhaps enjoyed perfect 
[ happiness ; but this w r as oniy momentary : Sophia soon re¬ 
turned to his imagination, and allayed the joy of his tri¬ 
umph with no less bitter pangs than a good-natured general 
must feel when he surveys the bleeding heaps, at the price 
of whose blood he hath purchased his laurels ; for thou¬ 
sands of tender ideas lay murdered before our conqueror. 

Being resolved, liov r ever, to pursue the paths of this 
giant honor, as the gigantic poet Lee calls it, he determined 
to write a farewell letter to Sophia ; and accordingly pro¬ 
ceeded to a house not far off, where, being furnished wit I 
proper materials, he wrote as follows : 








820 


THE HISTORY OF 


“ Madam, 

“ When you reflect on the situation in which I write, j 
1 am sure your good-nature will pardon any inconsistency 
or absurdity which my letter contains ; for everything here 
flows from a heart so full that no language can express its 
dictates. 

“ I have resolved, madam, to obey your commands, in 
flying forever from your dear, your lovely sight. Cruel 
indeed those commands are ; hut it is cruelty which pro¬ 
ceeds from fortune, not from my Sophia. Fortune hath 
made it necessary, necessary to your preservation, to forget 
there ever was such a wretch as I am. 

“ Believe me, I would not hint all my suffering's to you 
if I imagined they could possibly escape your ears. I know 
the goodness and tenderness of your heart, and would avoid 
giving you any of those pains which you always feel for 
the miserable. O let nothing which you shall hear of my 
hard fortune cause a moment’s concern ; for, after the loss 
of you, everything is to me a trifle. 

“ O Sophia ! it is hard to leave you ; it is harder still 
to desire you to forget me ; yet the sincerest love obliges 
me to both. Pardon my conceiving that any remembrance i 
of me can give you disquiet ; hut if I am so gloriously j 
wretched, sacrifice me every way to your relief. Think I 
never loved you ; or think truly how little I deserve you ; 
and learn to scorn me for a presumption which can never he 
too severely punished. I am unable to say more. May 
guardian angels protect you forever !” j 

He was now searching his pockets for his wax, hut found 
none, nor indeed anything else, therein ; for in truth he 
had, in his frantic disposition, tossed everything from him, 
and amongst the rest, his pocket-book, which he had re¬ 
ceived from Mr. All worthy, which he had never opened, 
and which now first occurred to his memory. 











321 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

The house supplied him with a wafer for his present pur¬ 
pose, with which, having sealed his letter, he returned hastily 
towards the brook side, in order to search for the things 
which he had there lost. In his way he met his old friend 
Black George, who heartily condoled with him on his mis¬ 
fortune ; for this had already reached his ears, and indeed 
those of all the neighborhood. 

J ones acquainted the gamekeeper with his loss, and he as 
readily went back with him to the brook, where they 
searched every tuft of grass in the meadow, as well where 
Jones had not been as where he had been ; but all to no 
purpose, for they found nothing ; for indeed, though the 
things were then in the meadow, they omitted to search the 
only place wdiere they were deposited ; to wit, in the j30c- 
kets of the said George ; for he had just before found 
them, and being luckily apprised of their value, had very 
carefully put them up for his own use. 

The gamekeeper having exerted as much diligence in quest 
of the lost goods as if he had hoped to find them, desired Mr. 
Jones to recollect if he had been in no other place : “ For 
sure,” said he, “ if you had lost them here so lately, the 
things must have been here still ; for this is a very unlikely 
place for any one to pass by. ’ ’ And indeed it was by great 
accident that he himself had passed through that field, in 
order to lay wires for hares, with which he was to supply a 
poulterer at Bath the next morning. 

Jones now gave over all hopes of recovering his loss, and 
almost all thoughts concerning it, and turning to Black 
George, asked him earnestly if he would do him the great¬ 
est favor in the world ? 

George answered with some hesitation, u Sir, you know 
you may command me whatever is in my power, and I 
heartily wish it was in my power to do you any service.” 
In fact, the question staggered him ; for he had, by selling 
game, amassed a pretty good sum of money in Mr. West- 





322 


THE HISTORY OF 


era’s service, and was afraid tliat Jones wanted to borrow 
some small matter of him ; but be was presently relieved 
from his anxiety, by being desired to convey a letter to 
Sophia, which with great pleasure he promised to do. And 
indeed I believe there are few favors which he would not 
have gladly conferred on Mr. Jones ; for he bore as much 
gratitude toAvards him as he could, and was as honest as 
men who love money better than any other thing in the 
universe, generally are. 

Mrs. Ilonour'was agreed by both to be the proper means j 
by which this letter should pass to Sophia. They then sepa¬ 
rated ; the gamekeeper returned home to Mr. Western’s, 
and Jones walked to an alehouse at half a mile's distance, 
to wait for his messenger’s return. 

George n© sooner came home to his master’s house than 
he met with Mrs. Honour, to whom, having first sounded 
her with a few previous questions, he delivered the letter 
for her mistress, and received at the same time another from 
her, for Mr. Jones ; which Honour told him she had car¬ 
ried all that day in her bosom, and began to despair of find- j 
mg any means of delivering it. 

The gamekeeper returned hastily and joyfully to Jones, 
who, having received Sophia’s letter from him, instantly 
withdrew, and eagerly breaking it open, read as follows : 

“ Sib, I! 

“ It is impossible to express what I have felt since I 
saw you. Your submitting, on my account, to such cruel 
insults from my father, lays me under an obligation I shall 
ever own. As you know his temper, I beg you will, for 
my sake, avoid him. I wish I had any comfort to send 
you ; but believe this, that nothing but the last violence 
shall ever give my hand or heart where you would be sorry 
10 see them bestowed.” 







. TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


3^3 

Jones read this letter a hundred times over, and kissed it 
a hundred times as often. Ilis passion now brought all 
tender desires back into his mind. He repented that he 
had writ to Sophia in the manner we have seen above ; but 
he repented more that he had made use of the interval of 
his messenger’s absence to write and despatch a letter to Mr. 
Allworthy, in which he had faithfully promised and bound 
himself to cpiit all thoughts of his love. However, when his 
cool reflections returned, he plainly perceived that his case 
was neither mended nor altered by Sophia’s billet, unless 
to give him some little glimpse of hope, from her con¬ 
stancy, of some favorable accident hereafter. He therefore 
resumed his resolution, and taking leave of Black George, 
set forward to a town about five miles distant, whither he 
had desired Mr. Allworthy, unless he pleased to revoke his 
sentence, to send his things after him. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE BEHAVIOR OF SOPHIA ON THE PRESENT OCCASION 5 WHICH 
NONE OF HER SEX WILL BLAME, WHO ARE CAPABLE OF BE¬ 
HAVING IN THE SAME MANNER. AND THE DISCUSSION OF A 
KNOTTY POINT IN THE COURT OF CONSCIENCE. 


Sophia had passed the last twenty-four hours in no very 
desirable manner. During a large part of them she had 
been entertained by her aunt with lectures of prudence, rec¬ 
ommending to her the example of the polite woild, wheie 
love (so the good lady said) is at present entirely laughed 
at, and where women consider matrimony, as men do 
offices of public trust, only as the means of making their 
fortunes, and of advancing themselves in the woild. In 
commenting on which text Mrs. Western had displayed her 
eloquence during several hours. 





324 


THE IIE TOBY OF 


These sagacious lectures, though little suited either to the 
taste or inclination of Sophia, were, however, less irksome 
to her than her own thoughts, that formed the entertain¬ 
ment of the night, during which she never once closed her 

eyes.' 

But though she could neither sleep nor rest in her bed, 
yet, having no avocation from it, she was found there by 
her father at his return from Allworthy’s, which was not 
till past ten o’clock in the morning. ITe went directly up 
to her apartment, opened the door, and seeing she was not 
up, cried, “ Oh ! you are safe then, and I am resolved to 
keep you so.” He then locked the door, and delivered the 
key to Honour, having first given her the strictest charge, 
with great promises of rewards for her fidelity, and most 
dreadful menaces of punishment in case she should betray 
her trust.. 

Honour’s orders were, not to suffer her mistress to come 
out of her room without the authority of the squire himself, 
and to admit none to her but him and her aunt ; but she 
was herself to attend her with whatever Sophia pleased, ex¬ 
cept only pen, ink, and paper, of which she was forbidden 
the use. 

The squire ordered his daughter to dress herself and at¬ 
tend him at dinner ; which she obeyed ; and having sat the 
usual time, was again conducted to her prison. 

In the evening the j; iler Honour brought her the letter 
which she received from the gamekeeper. Sophia read it 
very attentively twice or thrice over, and then threw her¬ 
self upon the bed, and burst into a flood of tears. Mrs. 
Honour expressed great astonishment at this behavior in her 
mistress ; nor coihd she forbear very eagerly begging to 
know the cause of this passion. Sophia made her no an¬ 
swer for some time, and then, starting suddenly up, caught 
her maid by the hand, and cried, “ O Honour ! I am un¬ 
done.” “ Marry forbid,” cries Honour : “ 1 wish the let- 






TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


325 


ter had been burnt before I had brought it to your la’ship. 
I’m sure I thought it would have comforted your la’ship, 
or I would have seen it at the devil before I would have 
touched it.” “ Honour,” says Sophia, u you are a good 
girl, and it is vain to attempt concealing longer my weak¬ 
ness from you ; I have thrown away my heart on a man 
who hath forsaken me.” “ And is Mr. Jones,” answered 
the maid, <c such a perfidy man ?” “ lie hath taken his 

leave of me,” says Sophia, “ forever in that letter. Nay, 
he hath desired me to forget him. Could he have desired 
that if he had loved me ? Could he have borne such a 
thought ? Could he have written such a word ?” 

“ No, certainly, ma’am,” cries Honour ; “ and to be 
sure, if the best man in England was to desire me to forget 
him, I’d take him at his word. Marry, come up ! I am 
sure your la’ship hath done him too much honor ever to 
think on him—a young lady who may take her choice of 
all the young men in the country. And to be sure, if I 
may be so presumptuous as to offer my poor opinion, there 
is young Mr. Blifil, who, besides that he is come of honest 
parents, and will be one of the greatest squires all here¬ 
abouts, he is, to be sure, in my poor opinion, a more hand¬ 
somer and a more politer man by half ; and besides, he is a 
young gentleman of a sober character, and who may defy 
any of the neighbors to say black is his eye ; he follows 
no dirty trollops, nor can any bastards be laid at his door. 
Forget him, indeed ! I thank heaven I myself am not so 
much at my last prayers as to suffer any man to bid me for¬ 
get him twice. If the best he that wears a head was for to 
go for to offer to say such an affronting word to me, I would 
never give him my company afterwards, if there was an¬ 
other young man in the kingdom. And as I was a saying, 
to be sure, there is young Mr. Blifil.” “ Name not his de¬ 
tested name,” cries Sophia. “ Nay, ma’am,” says Hon¬ 
our, “ if your la’ship doth not like him, there be more 







326 


THE HISTORY OF 


jolly handsome young men that would court your la’ship, 
if they had but the least encouragement. I don’t believe 
there is arrow young gentleman in this county, or in the 
next to it, that if your la’ship was but to look as if you had 
a mind to him, would not come about to make his offers di¬ 
rectly. ” “ What a wretch dost thou imagine me,” cries 

Sophia, u by affronting my ears with such stuff ! I detest 
all mankind.” “ Nay, to be sure, ma’am,” answered 
Honour, “your la’ship hath had enough to give you a sur¬ 
feit of them. To be used ill by such a poor, beggarly, bas¬ 
tardly fellow.” “ Hold your blasphemous tongue,” cries 
Sophia : “ how dare you mention his name with disrespect 
before me ? He use me ill ? No, his poor bleeding heart 
suffered more when he writ the cruel words than mine from 
reading them. O ! he is all heroic virtue and angelic good¬ 
ness. I am ashamed of the weakness of my own passion, 
for blaming what I ought to admire. O, Honour ! it is 
my good only which he consults. To my interest he sacri¬ 
fices both himself and me. The apprehension of ruining 
me hath driven him to despair. ” “ I am very glad, ’ ’ says 

Honour, ‘ £ to hear you la’ship takes that into your consider¬ 
ation ; for to be sure, it must be nothing less than ruin to 
give your mind to one that is turned out of doors, and is 
not worth a farthing in the world.” “Turned out of 
doors !” cries Sophia hastily : “ how ! what dost thou 
mean ?” “ Why, to be sure, ma’am, my master no sooner 

told Squire Allworthy about Mr. Jones having offered to 
make love to your ladyship than the squire stripped him 
stark naked, and turned him out of doors !” “ Ha !” 

says Sophia, “ I have been the cursed, wretched cause of 
his destruction ! Turned naked out of doors ! Here, 
Honour, take all the money I have ; take the rings from 
my fingers. Here, my watch : carry him all. Go find 
him immediately.” “ For heaven’s sake, ma’am,” an¬ 
swered Mrs. Honour, “ do but consider, if my master 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


327 


should miss any of these things, I should be made to an¬ 
swer for them. Therefore let me beg your ladyship not to 
part with your watch and jewels. Besides, the money, 1 
think, is enough of all conscience ; and as for that, my mas¬ 
ter can never know anything of the matter.” “ Here, 
then,” cries Sophia, u take every farthing I am worth, 
find him out immediately, and give it him. Go, go, lose 
not a moment.” 

Mrs. Honour departed according to orders, and finding 
Black George below-stairs, delivered him the purse, which 
contained sixteen guineas, being, indeed, the whole stock 
of Sophia ; for though her father was very liberal to her, 
she was much too generous to be rich. 

Black George having received the purse, set forward to¬ 
wards the ale-house ; but in the way a thought occurred to 
him, whether he should not detain this money likewise. His 
conscience, however, immediately started at this suggestion, 
and began to upbraid him with ingratitude to his benefactor. 
To this his avarice answered, That his conscience should have 
considered the matter before, when he deprived poor Jones 
of his £500. That having cpiietly acquiesced in what was of 
so much greater importance, it was absurd, if not down¬ 
right hypocrisy, to affect any qualms at this trifle. In re¬ 
turn to which, Conscience, like a good lawyer, attempted 
to distinguish between an absolute breach of trust, as here, 
where the goods were delivered, and a bare concealment of 
what was found, as in the former case. Avarice presently 
treated this with ridicule, called it a distinction without a 
difference, and absolutely insisted that when once all pre¬ 
tensions of honor and virtue were given up in any one in 
stance, that there was no precedent for resorting to them 
upon a second occasion. In short, poor Conscience had cer¬ 
tainly been defeated in the argument, had not Fear stepped 
in to her assistance, and very strenuously urged that the real 
distinction between the two actions did not lie in the di£ 








32 8 


THE HISTORY OF 

erent, degrees of honor but of safety ; for that the secret¬ 
ing the £500 was a matter of very little hazard, whereas 
the detaining the sixteen guineas was liable to the utmost 
danger of discovery. 

By this friendly aid of Fear, Conscience obtained a com¬ 
plete victory in the mind of Black George, and, after mak¬ 
ing him a few compliments on his honesty, forced him to 
deliver the money to Jones. 

CHAPTER XIY. I 

A SHORT CHAPTER, CONTAINING A SHORT DIALOGUE BETWEEN 
SQUIRE WESTERN AND HIS SISTER. 

Mrs. Western had been engaged abroad all that day. 
The squire met her at her return home ; and when she in¬ 
quired after- Sophia, he acquainted her that he had secured 
her safe enough. “ She is locked up in chamber,” cries 
he, “ and Honour keeps the key.” As his looks were full 
of prodigious wisdom and sagacity when he gave his sistei 
this information, it is probable he expected much applause 
from her for what he had done ; hut how was he disap¬ 
pointed when, with a most disdainful aspect, she cried, 

“ Sure, brother, you are the weakest of all men. Why 
will you not confide in me for the management of my 
niece ? Why will you interpose ? You have now undone 
all that I have been spending my breath in order to bring 
about. While I have been endeavoring to hT her mind 
with maxims of prudence, you have been provoking her to 
reject them. English women, brother, I thank heaven, 
are no slaves. We are not to be locked up like the Span¬ 
ish and Italian wives. We have as good a right to liberty 
as yourselves. We are to be convinced by reason and per¬ 
suasion only, and not governed by force. I have seen the 





TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


329 


world, brother, and know what arguments to make use of ; 
and if your folly had not prevented me, should have pre¬ 
vailed with her to form her conduct by those rules of pru¬ 
dence and discretion which I formerly taught her.” u To 
be sure,” said the squire, u I am always in the wrong.” 
‘ ‘ Brother, ’ 1 answered the lady, ‘ ‘ you are not in the wrong, 
unless when you meddle with matters beyond your know! 
edge. You must agree that I have seen most of the 
world ; and happy had it been for my niece if she had not 
been taken from under my care. It is by living at home 
with you that she hath learnt romantic notions of love and 
nonsense.” “ You don’t imagine,” I hope, cries the 
squire, “ that I have taught her any such things.” u Your 
ignorance, brother,” returned she, “ as the great Milton 
says, almost subdues my patience. ” * “ D—n Milton ! ’ ’ 

answered the squire : “ if he had the impudence to say so to 
my face, I’d lent him a douse, thof he was never so great a 
man. Patience ! An you come to that, sister, I have 
more occasion of patience, to be used like an overgrown 
schoolboy, as I am by you. Do you think no one hath any 
understanding, unless he hath been about at court? Pox ! 
the world is come to a fine pass, indeed, if we are all fools, 
except a parcel of roundheads and Hanover rats. Pox ! I 
hope the times are a coming that we shall make fools of 
them, and every man shall enjoy his own. That’s all, 
sister ; and every man shall enjoy his own. I hope to zee 
it, sister, before the Hanover rats have eat up all our corn, 
and Jeft us nothing but turneps to feed upon.” “I pro¬ 
test, brother,” cries she, “ you are now got beyond my un¬ 
derstanding. Your jargon of turneps and Hanover rats is 
to me perfectly unintelligible.” U I believe,” cries he, 
u you don’t care to hear o’em ; but the country interest 
may succeed one day or other for all that.” “ I wish,’ 

* The reader may, perhaps, subdue his own patience, if he searches for 
this in Milton. 






330 


TOM '/OATES: A FOUNDLING. 


answered the lady, “ you would think a little of your 
daughter’s interest ; for, believe me, she is in greater dan¬ 
ger than the nation.” “ Just now,” said he, u you chid 
me for thinking on her, and would ha’ her left to you. ’’ 
“ And if you will promise to interpose no more,” answered 
she, “ I will, out of my regard to my niece, undertake the 
charge.” “ Well, do, then,” said the squire, “ for you 
know I always agreed that women are the properest to 
manage women. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Western then departed, muttering something, with 
an air of disdain, concerning women and management of 
the nation. She immediately repaired to Sophia’s apart¬ 
ment, who was now, after a day’s confinement, released 
again from her captivity. 


BOOK VII. 


CONTAINING THREE DAYS 


CHAPTER I. 

A COMPARISON BETWEEN THE WORLD AND THE STAGE. 

The world hath been often compared to the theatre ; and 
many grave writers, as well as the poets, have considered 
human life as a great drama, resembling, in almost every 
particular, those scenical representations which Thespis is 
first reported to have invented, and which have been since 
received with so much approbation and delight in all polite 
countries. 

This thought hath been carried so far, and is become so 
general, that some words proper to the theatre, and which 
were at first metaphorically applied to the world, are now 

I indiscriminately and literally spoken of both ; thus stage 
and scene are by common use grown as familiar to us, when 
we speak of life in general, as when we confine ourselves to 
dramatic performances ; and when transactions behind the 
curtain are mentioned, St. James’s is more likely to occur 
to our thoughts than Drury Lane. 

It may seem easy enough to account for all this, by re¬ 
flecting that the theatrical stage is nothing more than a rep¬ 
resentation, or, as Aristotle calls it, an imitation of what 
really existsand hence, perhaps, we might fairly pay a 
very high compliment to those who by their writings or ac¬ 
tions have been so capable of imitating life, as to have their 









332 


THE HISTORY OF 


pictures in a manner confounded with, or mistaken for, the 
originals. 

But, in reality, we are not so fond of paying compliments 
to these people, whom we use as children frequently do the 
instruments of their amusement ; and have much more 
pleasure in hissing and buffeting them than in admiring 
their excellence. There are many other reasons which have 
induced us to see this analogy between the world and the 
stage. 

Some have considered the larger part of mankind in the 
light of actors, as personating characters no more their 
own, and to which in fact they have no better title, than 
the player hath to he in earnest thought the king or em¬ 
peror whom he represents. Thus the hypocrite may be 
said to be a player ; and indeed the Greeks called them 
both by one and the same name. 

The brevity of life hath likewise given occasion to this 
comparison. So the immortal Shakespeare— 

-Life’s a poor player, 

That struts and frets liis hour upon the stage. 

And then is heard no more. 

Bor which hackneyed quotation I will make the reader 
amends by a very noble one, which few, I believe, have 
read. It is taken from a poem called the Deity, published 
about nine years ago, and long since buried in oblivion ; a 
proof that good books, no more than good men, do always 
survive the bad. 

From Thee* all human actions take their springs. 

The rise of empires and the fall of kings ! 

See the vast Theatre of Time display’d, 

While o’er the scene succeeding heroes tread ! 

With pomp the shining images succeed, 

What leaders triumph, and what monarclis bleed! 


* The Deity. 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 


333 


Perform the parts thy providence assign’d, 

Tlieir pride, their passions, to thy ends inclin’d : 

Awhile they glitter in the face of day, 

Then at thy nod the phantoms pass away ; 

No traces left of all the busy scene, 

But that remembrance says —The things have been! 

In all these, however, and in every other similitude of 
life to the theatre, the resemblance hath been always taken 
from the stage only. None, as I remember, have at all 
considered the audience at this great drama. 

But as Nature often exhibits some of her best perform¬ 
ances to a very full house, so will the behavior of her spec¬ 
tators no less admit the above-mentioned comparison than 
that of her actors. In this vast theatre of time are seated 
the friend and the critic ; here are claps and shouts, hisses 
and groans ; in short, everything which was ever seen or 
heard at the Theatre-Boyal. 

Let us examine this in one example ; for instance, in the 
behavior of the great audience on that scene which Nature 
was pleased to exhibit in the twelfth chapter of the preced¬ 
ing book, where she introduced Black George running awa^y 
with the £500 from his friend and benefactor. 

Those who sat in the world’s upper gallery treated that 
incident, I am well convinced, with their usual vocifera¬ 
tion ; and every term of scurrilous reproach was most prob 
ably vented on that occasion. 

If we had descended to the next order of spectators, we 
should have found an equal degree of abhorrence, though 
less of noise and scurrility ; yet here the good women gave 
Black George to the devil, and many of them expected 
every minute that the cloven-footed gentleman would fetch 
his own. 

The pit, as usual, was no doubt divided : those who de¬ 
light in heroic virtue and perfect character objected to the 
producing such instances of villany, without punishing 





334 


THE HISTORY OF 


them very severely for the sake of example. Some of the 
author’s friends cried, “ Look’ee, gentlemen, the man is a 
villain, but it is nature for all that. ’ ’ And all the young 
critics of the age, the clerks, apprentices, etc., called it 
low, and fell a groaning. 

As for the boxes, they behaved with their accustomed 
politeness. Most of them were attending to something else. 
Some of those few who regarded the scene at all, declared 
he was a had kind of man ; while others refused to give 
their opinion till they had heard that of the best judges. 

N ow we, who are admitted behind the scenes of this great 
theatre of Nature (and no author ought to write anything 
besides dictionaries and spelling-books who hath not this 
privilege), can censure the action, without conceiving any 
absolute detestation of the person whom perhaps Nature may 
not have designed to act an ill part in all her dramas ; for 
in this instance life most exactly resembles the stage, since 
it is often the same person who represents the villain and 
the hero ; and he who engages your admiration to-day will 
probably attract your contempt to-morrow. As Garrick, 
whom I regard in tragedy to be the greatest genius the 
world hath ever produced, sometimes condescends to play 
the fool, so did Scipio the Great, and Lgelius the Wise, ac¬ 
cording to Horace, many years ago ; nay, Cicero reports 
them to have been “ incredibly childish.” These, it is 
true, played the fool, like my friend Garrick, in jest only ; 
but several eminent characters have, in numberless instan¬ 
ces of their lives, played the fool egregiously in earnest ; 
so far as to render it a matter of some doubt whether their 
wisdom or folly was predominant ; or whether they were 
better entitled to the applause or censure, the admiration 
or contempt, the love or hatred, of mankind. 

Those persons, indeed, who have passed any time be¬ 
hind the scenes of this great theatre, and are thoroughly 
acquainted not only with the several disguises which are 














TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 335 

there put on, hut also with the fantastic and capricious be¬ 
havior of the Passions, who are the managers and directors 
of this theatre (for as to Reason, the patentee., he is known 
to be a very idle fellow, and seldom to exert himself), may 
most probably have learned to understand the famous nil 
admirari of Horace, or, in the English phrase, to stare at 
nothing. 

A single bad act no more constitutes a villain in life than 
a single bad part on the stage. The passions, like the 
managers of a playhouse, often force men upon parts with¬ 
out consulting their judgment, and sometimes without any 
regard to their talents. Thus the man, as well as the 
player, may condemn what he himself acts ; nay, it is com¬ 
mon to see vice sit as awkwardly on some men as the char¬ 
acter of Iago would on the honest face of Mr. William 
Mills. 

Upon the whole, then, the man of candor and of true 
understanding is never hasty to condemn. He can censure 
an imperfection, or even a vice, without rage against the 
guilty party. In a word, they are the same folly, the same 
childishness, the same ill-breeding, and the same ill-nature, 
which raise all the clamors and uproars both in life and on 
the stage. The worst of men generally have the words 
rogue and villain most in their mouths, as the lowest of all 
wretches are the aptest to cry out low in the pit. 


CHAPTER II. 

CONTAINING A CONVERSATION WHICH MR. JONES HAD WITH 

HIMSELF. 

Jones received his effects from Mr. Allworthy’s early in 
the morning with the following answer to his letter : 








336 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


'* Sir, 

(( I am commanded by my uncle to acquaint you, that as 
he did not proceed to those measures he had taken with 
you, without the greatest deliberation, and after the fullest 
evidence of your unworthiness, so will it be always out of 
your power to cause the least alteration in his resolution, 
lie expresses great surprise at your presumption in saying 
you have resigned all pretensions to a young lady to whom 
it is impossible you should ever have had any, her birth and 
fortune having made her so infinitely your superior. Lastly, 
I am commanded to tell you, that the only instance of 
your compliance with my uncle’s inclinations which he re¬ 
quires, is, your immediately quitting this country. I can¬ 
not conclude this without offering you my advice, as a 
Christian, that you would seriously think of amending your 
life. That you may be assisted with grace, so to do, will be 
always the prayer of 

“ Your humble servant, 

4 ‘ W. Blifil. ’ ’ 

Many contending passions were raised in our hero’s mind 
by this letter ; but the tender prevailed at last over the in¬ 
dignant and irascible, and a flood of tears came seasonably 
to his assistance, and possibly prevented his misfortunes from 
either turning his head or bursting his heart. 

He grew, however, soon ashamed of indulging this rem¬ 
edy ; and starting up, he cried, u Well, then, I will give 
Mr. Allworthy the only instance he requires of my obedi¬ 
ence. I will go this moment—but whither ?—why, let For¬ 
tune direct ; since there is no other who thinks it of any 
consequence what becomes of this wretched person, it shall 
be a matter of equal indifference to myself. Shall I alone 
regard what no other—Ha ! have I not reason to think 
there is another ?—one whose value is above that of the 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


337 


whole world !—I may, I must imagine my Sophia is not in¬ 
different to what becomes of me. Shall I then leave this 
only friend—and such a friend ? Shall I not stay with her ? 
Where —how can I stay with her ? Have I any hopes of 
ever seeing her, though she was as desirous as myself, with¬ 
out exposing her to the wrath of her father, and to what 
purpose ? Can I think of soliciting such a creature to con¬ 
sent to her own ruin ? Shall I indulge any passion of mine 
at such a price ? Shall I lurk about this country like a thief, 
with such intentions ?—Ho, I disdain, I detest the thought. 
Farewell, Sophia ; farewell, most lovely, most beloved—” 
Here passion stopped his mouth, and found a vent at his 
eyes. 

And now having taken a resolution to leave the country, 
he began to debate with himself whither he should go. The 
world, as Milton phrases it, lay all before him ; and Jones, 
no more than Adam, had any man to whom he might resort 
for comfort or assistance. All his acquaintance were the 
acquaintance of Mr. Allworthy ; and he had no reason to 
expect any countenance from them, as that gentleman had 
withdrawn his favor from him. Men of great and good 
characters should indeed be very cautious how they discard 
their dependents ; for the consequence to the unhappy 
sufferer is being discarded by all others. 

What course of life to pursue, or to what business to ap¬ 
ply himself, was a second consideration ; and here the pros¬ 
pect was all a melancholy void. Every profession, and 
every trade, required length of time, and, what was worse, 
money ; for matters are so constituted that u nothing out 
of nothing” is not a truer maxim in physics than in poli¬ 
tics ; and every man who is greatly destitute of money, is 
on that account entirely excluded from all means of acquir¬ 
ing it. 

At last the Ocean, that hospitable friend to the wretched, 
opened her capacious arms to receive him ; and he instantly 





338 


TIIE HIST OR Y OF 


resolved to accept her kind invitation. To express my sell 
less figuratively, lie determined to go to sea. 

This thought indeed no sooner suggested itself than he 
eagerly embraced it ; and having presently hired horses, he 
set out for Bristol to put it in execution. 

But before we attend him on this expedition, we shall re¬ 
sort awhile to Mr. Western’s, and see what farther hap¬ 
pened to the charming Sophia. 

CHAPTER III. 

CONTAINING SEVERAL DIALOGUES. 

The morning in which Mr. Jones departed, Mrs. West¬ 
ern summoned Sophia into her apartment ; and having 
first acquainted her that she had obtained her liberty of her 
father, she proceeded to read her a long lecture on the sub¬ 
ject of matrimony, which she treated not as a romantic 
scheme of happiness arising from love, as it hath been de¬ 
scribed by the poets ; nor did she mention any of those pur¬ 
poses for which we are taught by divines to regard it as in¬ 
stituted by sacred authority ; she considered it rather as a 
fund in which prudent women deposit their fortunes to the 
best advantage, in order to receive a. larger interest for them 
than they could have elsewhere. 

When Mrs. Western had finished, Sophia answered, 
“ That she was very incapable of arguing with a lady of her 
aunt’s superior knowledge and experience, especially on a 
subject which she had so very little considered as this of 
matrimony. ” 

“ Argue with me, child !” replied the other ; “ I do not 
indeed expect it. I should have seen the world to very lit¬ 
tle purpose, truly, if I am to argue with one of your years. 
I have taken this trouble, in order to instruct you. The 
ancient philosophers, such as Socrates, Alcibiades, and 


339 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

others, did not use to argue with their scholars. You are 
to consider me, child, as Socrates, not asking your opinion, 
but only informing you of mine.” From which last words 
the reader may possibly imagine that this lady had read no 
more of the philosophy of Socrates than she had of that of 
Alcibiades ; and indeed we cannot resolve his curiosity as to 
this point. 

Madam,” cries Sophia, “I have never presumed to 
controvert any opinion of yours ; and this subject, as I said, 
I have never yet thought of, and perhaps never may.” 

“ Indeed, Sophy,” replied the aunt, “ this dissimulation 
with me is very foolish. The French shall as soon persuade 
me that they take foreign towns in defence only of their 
own country, as you can impose on me to believe you have 
never yet thought seriously of matrimony. How can you, 
child, affect to deny that you have considered of contract¬ 
ing an alliance, when you so well know I am acquainted 
with the party with whom you desire to contract it ?—an al¬ 
liance as unnatural, and contrary to your interest, as a sepa¬ 
rate league with the French would be to the interest of 
the Dutch ! But, however, if you have not hitherto consid¬ 
ered of this matter, I promise you it is now high time, for 
my brother is resolved immediately to conclude the treaty 
with Mr. Blifil ; and indeed I am a sort of guarantee in the 
affair, and have promised your concurrence. 5 ’ 

“ Indeed, madam,” cries Sophia, “ this is the only in¬ 
stance in which I must disobey both yourself and my father. 
For this is a match which requires very little consideration 
in me to refuse.” 

“If I was not as great a philosopher as Socrates him¬ 
self,” returned Mrs. Western, u you would overcome my 
patience. What objection can you have to the young gen¬ 
tleman ?” 

“ A very solid objection, in my opinion,” says Sophia 
“ I hate him. ” 








340 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


“ Will you never learn a proper use of words ?” answered 
the aunt. “ Indeed, child, you should consult Bailey’s 
Dictionary. It is impossible you should hate a man from 
whom you have received no injury. By hatred, therefore, 
you mean no more than dislike, which is no sufficient objec¬ 
tion against your marrying of him. I have known many 
couples, who have entirely disliked each other, lead very 
comfortable genteel lives. Believe me, child, I know these 
things better than you. You will allow me, I think, to have 
seen the world, in which I have not an acquaintance who 
would not rather be thought to dislike her husband than 
to like him. The contrary is such out-of-fasliion romantic 
nonsense that the very imagination of it is shocking.” 

“ Indeed, madam,” replied Sophia, “ I shall never marry 
a man I dislike. If I promise my father never to consent 
to any marriage contrary to his inclinations, I think I may 
hope he will never force me into that state contrary to my * 
own.” 

u Inclinations !” cries the aunt with some warmth. “ In¬ 
clinations ! I am astonished at your assurance. A young 
woman of your age, and unmarried, to talk of inclinations ! 
But whatever your inclinations may be my brother is re¬ 
solved ; nay, since you talk of inclinations, I shall advise 
him to hasten the treaty. .Inclinations !” 

Sophia then flung herself upon her knees, and tears began 
to trickle from her shining eyes. She entreated her aunt 
‘ ‘ to have mercy upon her, and not to resent so cruelly her 
unwillingness to make herself miserable,” often urging 
u that she alone was concerned, and that her happiness only 
was at stake. ’ ’ 

As a bailiff, when well authorized by his writ, having 
possessed himself of the person of some unhappy debtor, 
views all his tears without concern ; in vain the wretched 
captive attempts to raise compassion ; in vain the tender 
wife bereft of her companion, the little prattling boy, or 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


341 


frighted girl, are mentioned as inducements to reluctance. 
The noble bumtrap, blind and deaf to every circumstance 
of distress, greatly rises above all the motives to humanity, 
and into the hands of the jailer resolves to deliver his mis¬ 
erable prey. 

Not less blind to the tears, or less deaf to every entreaty 
of Sohpia, was the politic aunt, nor less determined was she 
to deliver over the trembling maid into the arms of the 
jailer Blifil. She answered with great impetuosity, “ So 
far, madam, from your being concerned alone, your con¬ 
cern is the least, or surely the least important. It is the 
honor of your family which is concerned in this alliance ; 
you are only the instrument. Do you conceive, mistress, 
that in an intermarriage between kingdoms, as when a 
daughter of France is married into Spain, the princess her¬ 
self is alone considered in the match ? No ! it is a match 
between two kingdoms, rather than between two persons. 
The same happens in great families such as ours. The 
alliance between the families is the principal matter. You 
ought to have a greater regard for the honor of your family 
than for your own person ; and if the example of a princess 
cannot inspire you with these noble thoughts, you cannot 
surely complain at being used no worse than all princesses 
are used.” 

“ I hope, madam,” cries Sophia, with a little elevation 
of voice, “ I shall never do anything to dishonor my fam¬ 
ily ; but as for Mr. Blifil, whatever may be the consequen¬ 
ces, I am resolved against him, and no force shall prevail 
in his favor.” 

Western, who had been within hearing during the greater 
part of the preceding dialogue, had now exhausted all his 
patience ; he therefore entered the room in a violent pas¬ 
sion, crying, “ D—n me then if shatunt lia’un, d—n me if 
shatunt, that’s all—that’s all ; d—n me if shatunt.” 

Mrs. Western had collected a sufficient quantity of wrath 





342 


THE HIS TOE Y OF 


for the use of Sophia ; but slie now transferred it all to the 
squire. “ Brother,” said she, “it is astonishing that you 
will interfere in a matter which you had totally left to my 
negotiation. Regard to my family hath made me take upon 
myself to be the mediating power, in order to rectify those 
mistakes in policy which you have committed in your 
daughter’s education. For, brother, it is you—it is your 
preposterous conduct which hath eradicated all the seeds 
that I had formerly sown in her tender mind. It is you 
yourself who have taught her disobedience.” “Blood !” 
cries the squire, foaming at the mouth, “ you are enough 
to conquer the patience of the devil ! Have I ever taught 
my daughter disobedience ?—Here she stands ; speak hon¬ 
estly, girl, did ever I bid you be disobedient to me ? Have 
not I done everything to humor and to gratify you, and to 
make you obedient to me ? And very obedient to me she 
was when a little child, before you took her in hand and 
spoiled her, by filling her head with a pack of court no¬ 
tions. Why—why—why—did I not overhear you telling 
her she must behave like a princess ? You have made a 
Whig of the girl ; and how should her father, or anybody 
else, expect any obedience from her?” “ Brother, ” an¬ 
swered Mrs. Western, with an air of great disdain, “ I can¬ 
not express the contempt I have for your politics of all 
kinds ; but I will appeal likewise to the young lady her¬ 
self, whether I have ever taught her any principles of dis¬ 
obedience. On the contrary, niece, have I not endeavored 
to inspire you with a true idea of the several relations in 
which a human creature stands in society ? Have I not 
taken infinite pains to show you that the law of nature hath 
enjoined a duty on children to their parents ? Have I not 
told you what Plato says on that subject ?—a subject on 
which you was so notoriously ignorant when you came first 
under my care, that I verily believe you did not know the 
relation between a daughter and a father.” “ ’Tis a lie,” 


343 


TOM JONES: A FOUND TANG. 

answered Western. The girl is no such fool as to live to 
eleven years old without knowing that she was her father’s 
relation.’ O ! more than Grothic ignorance,” answered 
the lady. “ And as for your manners, brother, I must tell 
you, they deserve a cane.” “ Why, then, you may gi f it 
me, if you think you are able,” cries the squire ; “ nay, I 
suppose your niece there will be ready enough to help 
you.” “ Brother,” said Mrs. Western, “ though I despise 
you beyond expression, yet I shall endure your insolence no 
longer ; so I desire my coach may be got ready immedi¬ 
ately, for I am resolved to leave your house this very morn¬ 
ing. ” “ And a good riddance too,” answered he ; “I can 

bear your insolence no longer, an you come to that. Blood ! 
it is almost enough of itself to make my daughter under¬ 
value my sense when she hears you telling me every min¬ 
ute you despise me.” “ It is impossible, it is impossible,” 
cries the aunt; “no one can undervalue such a boor.” 
“ Boar,” answered the squire, “ I am no boar ; no, nor ass ; 
no, nor rat neither, madam. Remember that—I am no rat. 
I am a true Englishman, and not of your Hanover breed, 
that have eat up the nation.” “Thou art one of those 
wise men,” cries she, “ whose nonsensical principles have 
undone the nation, by weakening the hands of our govern¬ 
ment at home, and by discouraging our friends and encour¬ 
aging our enemies abroad.” “ ITo ! are you come back to 
your politics ?” cries the squire : “as for those I despise 
them as much as I do a f—t. ’ ’ Which last words he accom¬ 
panied and graced with the very action, which, of all 
others, was the most proper to it. And whether it was this 
word or the contempt expressed for her politics, which most 
affected Mrs. Western, I will not determine ; but she flew 
into the most violent rage, uttered phrases improper to be here 
related, and instantly burst out of the house. Nor did her 
brother or her niece think proper either to stop or to follow 
her ; for the one was so much possessed by concern, and the 





344 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


other by anger, that they were rendered almost motion 
less. 

The squire, however, sent after his sister the same holloa 
which attends the departure of a hare, when she is first 
started before the hounds. He was indeed a great master 
of this kind of vocifieration, and had a holla proper for 
most occasions in life. 

Women who, like Mrs. Western, know the world, and 
have applied themselves to philosophy and politics, would 
have immediately availed themselves of the present disposi¬ 
tion of Mr. Western’s mind by throwing in a few artful 
compliments to his understanding at the exj^ense of his ab¬ 
sent adversary ; hut poor Sophia was all simplicity. By 
which word we do not intend to insinuate to the reader 
that she was silly, which is generally understood as a syn¬ 
onymous term with simple ; for she was indeed a must sen¬ 
sible girl, and her understanding was of the first rate ; but 
she wanted all that useful art which females convert to so 
many good purposes in life, and which, as it rather arises 
from the heart than from the head, is often the property of 
the silliest of women. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A PICTURE OF A COUNTRY GENTLEWOMAN TAKEN FROM THE 

LIFE. 

Mr. Western having finished his holla, and taken a lit¬ 
tle breath, began to lament, in very pathetic terms, the un¬ 
fortunate condition of men, who are, says he, “ always 
whipped in by the humors of some d—n’d b—- or other. I 
think I was hard run enough by your mother for one man ; 
but after giving her a dodge, here’s another b— follows me 
upon the foil ; but curse my jacket if I will be run down 
in this manner by any o’um.” 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


345 


Sophia never had a single dispute with her father, till 
this unlucky affair of Blifil, on any account, except in de¬ 
fence of her mother, whom she had loved most tenderly, 
though she lost her in the eleventh year of her age. The 
squire, to whom that poor woman had been a faithful upper- 
servant all the time of their marriage, had returned that 
behavior by making what the world, calls a good husband. 
He very seldom swore at her (perhaps not above once a 
week) and never beat her : she had not the least occasion 
for jealousy, and was perfect mistress of her time ; for she 
was never interrupted by her husband, who was engaged 
all the morning in his field exercises, and all the evening 
with bottle companions. She scarce indeed ever saw him 
but at meals, where she had the pleasure of carving those 
dishes which she had before attended at the dressing. From 
these meals she retired about five minutes after the other 
servants, having only stayed to drink “ the king over the 
water.” Such were, it seems, Mr. Western’s orders ; for 
it was a maxim with him that women should come in with 
the first dish, and go out after the first glass. Obedience to 
these orders was perhaps no difficult task ; for the conver¬ 
sation (if it may be called so) was seldom such as could em 
tertain a lady. It consisted chiefly of hallowing, singing, 
relations of sporting adventures, b—d—y, and abuse of 
women, and of the government. 

These, however, were the only seasons when Mr. West¬ 
ern saw his wife ; for when he repaired to her bed, he was 
generally so drunk that he could not see ; and in the sport¬ 
ing season he always rose from her before it was light. 
Thus was she perfect mistress of her time, and had besides 
a coach and four usually at her command ; though unhap¬ 
pily, indeed, the badness of the neighborhood, and of the 
roads, made this of little use ; for none who had set much 
value on their necks would have passed through the one, 





346 


THE ITIS TOE Y OF 


or who had set any value on their hours, would have visited 
the other. Now to deal honestly with the reader, she did 
not make all the return expected to so much indulgence ; 
for she had been married against her will by a fond father, 
the match having been rather advantageous on her side ; 
for the squire’s estate was upwards of £3000 a year, and 
her fortune no more than a bare £8000. Hence, perhaps,she 
had contracted a little gloominess of temper, for she was 
rather a good servant than a good wife ; nor had she always 
the gratitude to return the extraordinary degree of roaring 
mirth, with which the squire received her, even with a 
good-humored smile. She would, moreover, sometimes 
interfere with matters which did not concern her, as the 
violent drinking of her husband, which in the gentlest terms 
she would take some of the few opportunities he gave her 
of remonstrating against. And once in her life she very 
earnestly entreated him to carry her for two months to Lon ¬ 
don, which he peremptorily denied ; nay, was angry with 
his wife for the request ever after, being well assured that 
all the husbands in London are cuckolds. 

For this last, and many other good reasons, Western at 
length heartily hated his wife ; and as he never concealed 
this hatred before her death, so he never fogot it after¬ 
wards ; but when anything in the least soured him, as a 
bad scenting day, or a distemper among his hounds, or any 
other such misfortune, he constantly vented his spleen by 
invectives against the deceased, saying, 44 If my wife was 
alive now, she would be glad of this.” 

These invectives he was especially desirous of throwing 
forth before Sophia ; for as he loved her more than he did 
any other, so he was really jealous that she had loved her 
mother better than him. And this jealousy Sophia seldom 
failed of heightening on these occasions ; for he was not 
contented with violating her ears with the abuse of her 


347 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

mother, but endeavored to force an explicit approbation of 
all this abuse ; with which desire he never could prevail 
upon her by any promise or threats to comply. 

Hence some of my readers will, perhaps, wonder that 
the squire had not hated Sophia as much as he had hated 
her mother ; but I must inform them that hatred is not 
the effect of love, even through the medium of jealousy. 
It is, indeed, very possible for jealous persons to kill the 
objects of their jealousy, but not to hate them. Which 
sentiment being a pretty hard morsel, and bearing some¬ 
thing of the air of a paradox, we shall leave the reader to 
chew the cud upon it to the end of the chapter. 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE GENEROUS BEHAVIOR OF SOPHIA TOWARDS HER AUNT. 

Sophia kept silence during the foregoing speech of her 
father, nor did she once answer otherwise than with a sigh ; 
but as he understood none of the language, or, as he called 
it, lingo of the eyes, so he was not satisfied without some 
further approbation of his sentiments, which he now de¬ 
manded of his daughter, telling her in the usual way, u he 
expected she was ready to take the part of everybody 
against him, as she had always done that of the b— her 
mother.” Sophia remaining still silent, he cried out, 
u What, art dumb ? why dost unt speak ? Was not thy 
mother a d—d b— to me ? answer me that. What, I sup¬ 
pose you despise your father too, and don’t think him 
good enough to speak to ?” 

“ For heaven’s sake, sir,” answered Sophia, u do not 
give so cruel a turn to my silence. I am sure I would 
sooner die than be guilty of any disrespect towards you ; 
but how can I venture to speak, when every word must either 







348 


THE IIIS TOE Y 01 


offend my dear papa, or convict me of the blackest ingrati¬ 
tude as well as impiety to the memory of the best of 
mothers ? for such, I am certain, my mamma was always 
to me.” 

u And your aunt, I suppose, is the best of sisters too !” 
replied the squire. “ Will you be so kind as to allow that 
she is a b— ? I may fairly insist upon that, I think ?” 

u Indeed, sir,” says Sophia, “ I have great obligations 
to my aunt. She hath been a second mother to me. ’ ’ 

“ And a second wife to me too,” returned Western ; 
“ so you will take her part too ! You won’t confess that 
she hath acted the part of the vilest sister in the world ?” 

“ Upon my word, sir,” cries Sophia, “ I must belie my 
heart wickedly if I did. I know my aunt and you differ 
very much in your ways of thinking ; but I have heard her 
a thousand times express the greatest affection for you ; 
and I am convinced, so far from her being the worst sister 
in the world, there are very few who love a brother better.” 

“ The English of all which is,” answered the squire, 
“ that I am in the wrong. Ay, certainly. Ay, to be sure 
the woman is in the right, and the man in the wrong al¬ 
ways. ’ ’ 

“ Pardon me, sir,” cries Sophia. “ I do not say so.” 

“ What don’t you say?” answered the father: “you 
have the impudence to say she’s in the right : doth it not 
follow, then, of course, that I am in the wrong ? And per¬ 
haps I am in the wrong to suffer such a Presbyterian Han 
overian b— to come into my house. She may ’dite me of a 
plot for anything I know, and give my estate to the gov¬ 
ernment. ’ ’ 

“ So far, sir, from injuring you or your estate,” says So¬ 
phia, “ if my aunt had died yesterday, I am convinced she 
would have left you her whole fortune.” 

Whether Sophia intended it or no, I shall not presume 
to assert ; but certain it is, these last words penetrated very 



TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


349 


deep into the ears of her father, and produced a much more 
sensible effect than all she had said before. He received 
the sound with much the same action as a man receives a 
bullet in his head. He started, staggered, and turned pale. 
After which he remained silent above a minute, and then 
began in the following hesitating manner : “ Yesterday ! 
she would have left me her esteate yesterday ! would she ? 
Why yesterday, of all the days in the year ? I suppose, if 
she dies to morrow, she will leave it to somebody else, and 
perhaps out of the vamily.” “My aunt, sir,” cries So¬ 
phia, “ hath very violent passions, and I can’t answer what 
she may do under their influence. ’ ’ 

“ You can’t !” returned the father : “ and pray who hath 
been the occasion of putting her into those violent pas¬ 
sions ? Hay, who hath actually put her into them ? Was 
not you and she hard at it before I came into the room ? 
Besides, was not all our quarrel about you ? I have not 
quarrelled with sister this many years but upon your ac¬ 
count ; and now you would throw the whole blame upon 
me, as thof I should be the occasion of her leaving the es¬ 
teate out o’ the vamily. I could have expected no better in¬ 
deed ; this is like the return you make to all the rest of my 
fondness. ” 

‘ ‘ I beseech you, then, ’ ’ cries Sophia, k ‘ upon my knees I 
beseech you, if I have been the unhappy occasion of this 
difference, that you will endeavor to make it up with my 
aunt, and not suffer her to leave your house in this violent 
rage of anger : she is a very good-natured woman, and a 
few civil words will satisfy her. Let me entreat you, sir.” 

“ So I must go and ask pardon for your fault, must I ?” 
answered Western. u You have lost the hare, and 1 must 
draw every way to find her again ? Indeed, if I was certain” 
—Here he stopped, and Sophia, throwing in more entreaties, 
at length prevailed upon him ; so that after venting two or 
three bitter sarcastical expressions against his daughter, he 


350 


THE HISTORY OF 


departed as fast as he could to recover his sister before liei 
equipage could be gotten ready. 

Sophia then returned to her chamber of mourning, where 
she indulged herself (if the phrase may be allowed me) in 
all the luxury of tender grief. She read over more than 
once the letter which she had received from Jones ; her 
muff too was used on this occasion ; and she bathed both 
these, as well as herself, with her tears. In this situation 
the friendly Mrs. Honour exerted her utmost abilities to 
comfort her afflicted mistress. She ran over the names of 
many young gentlemen ; and having greatly commended 
their parts and persons, assured Sophia that she might take 
her choice of any. These methods must have certainly been 
used with some success in disorders of the like kind, or so 
skilful a practitioner as Mrs. Honour would never have ven¬ 
tured to apply them ; nay, I have heard that the college of 
chambermaids hold them to be as sovereign remedies as 
any in the female dispensary ; but whether it was that So¬ 
phia’s disease differed inwardly from those cases with which 
it agreed in external symptoms, I will not assert ; but, in 
fact, the good waiting-woman did more harm than good, 
and at last so incensed her mistress (which was no easy 
matter) that with an angry voice she dismissed her from 
her presence. 


CHAPTER YI. 

CONTAINING GREAT VARIETY OF MATTER 

The squire overtook his sister just as she was stepping 
into the coach, and partly by force, and partly by solicita¬ 
tions, prevailed upon her to order her horses back into their 
quarters. He succeeded in this attempt without much 
difficulty ; for the lady was, as we have already hinted, of 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


351 


a most placable disposition, and greatly loved her brother, 
though she despised his parts, or rather his little knowledge 
of the world. 

Poor Sophia, who had first set on foot this reconciliation, 
was now made the sacrifice to it. They both concurred in 
their censures on her conduct ; jointly declared war against 
her, and directly proceeded to counsel how to carry it on 
in the most vigorous manner. For this purpose, Mrs. West¬ 
ern proposed not only an immediate conclusion of the 
treaty with Allworthy, but as immediately to carry it into 
execution, saying, 44 That there was no other way to suc¬ 
ceed with her niece but by violent methods, which she 
was convinced Sophia had not sufficient resolution to resist. 
By violent, ’ 1 says she, 4 4 I mean, rather, hasty measures ; 
for as to confinement or absolute force, no such things 
must or can be attempted. Our plan must be concerted 
for a surprise, and not for a storm.” 

These matters were resolved on, when Mr. Blifil came to 
pay a visit to his mistress. The squire no sooner heard of 
his arrival than he stepped aside, by his sister’s advice, to 
give his daughter orders for the proper reception of her 
lover, which he did with the most bitter execrations and 
denunciations of judgment on her refusal. 

The impetuosity of the squire bore down all before him ; 
and Sophia, as her aunt very wisely foresaw, was not able 
to resist him. She agreed, therefore, to see Blifil, though 
she had scarce spirits or strength sufficient to utter her as¬ 
sent. Indeed, to give a peremptory denial to a father whom 
she so tenderly loved, was no easy task. Had this circum¬ 
stance been out of the case, much less resolution than what 
she was really mistress of would, perhaps, have served her ; 
but it is no unusual thing to ascribe those actions entirely to 
fear which are in a great measure produced by love. 

In pursuance, therefore, of her father’s peremptory com¬ 
mand, Sophia now admitted Mr. BlifiTs visit. Scenes like 










352 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


this, when painted at large, afford, as we have observed, 
very little entertainment to the reader. Here, therefore, 
we shall strictly adhere to a rule of Horace ; by which 
writers are directed to pass over all those matters which 
they despair of placing in a shining light—a rule, we con¬ 
ceive, of excellent use as well to the historian as to the 
poet ; and which, if followed, must at least have this good 
effect, that many a great evil (for so all great books are 
called) would thus be reduced to a small one. 

It is possible the great art used by Blifil at this interview 
would have prevailed on Sophia to have made another man 
in his circumstances her confidant, and to have revealed the 
whole secret of her heart to him ; but she had contracted 
so ill an opinion of this young gentleman that she was re¬ 
solved to place no confidence in him ; for simplicity, when 
set on its guard, is often a match for cunning. Her beha¬ 
vior to him, therefore, was entirely forced, and indeed such 
as is generally prescribed to virgins upon the second formal 
visit from one who is appointed for their husband. 

But though Bilfil declared himself to the squire perfectly 
satisfied with his reception, yet that gentleman, who, in 
company with his sister, had overheard all, was not so well 
pleased. He resolved, in pursuance of the advice of the 
sage lady, to push matters as forward as possible ; and ad¬ 
dressing himself to his intended son-in-law in the hunting 
phrase, he cried, after a loud holla, “ Follow her, boy, fol¬ 
low her ; run in, run in ; that’s it, honeys. Dead, dead, 
dead. Never be bashful, nor stand shall I, shall I ? All¬ 
worthy and I can finish all matters between us this after¬ 
noon, and let us lia’ the w T edding to-morrow. 

Blifil having conveyed the utmost satisfaction into his 
countenance, answered, “ As there is nothing, sir, in this 
world which I so eagerly desire as an alliance with your 
family, except my union with the most amiable and deserv¬ 
ing Sophia, you may easily imagine how impatient I must 



353 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

be to see myself in possession of my two highest wishes. 
If I have not therefore importuned you on this head, you 
will impute it only to my fear of offending the lady by en¬ 
deavoring to hurry on so blessed an event faster than a 
strict compliance with all the rules of decency and decorum 
will permit. But if by your interest, sir, she might be in¬ 
duced to dispense with any formalities-” 

u Formalities ! with a pox !” answered the squire, 
“ Pooh, all stuff and nonsense ! I tell thee, she shall ha’ 
thee to-morrow : you will know the w T orld better hereafter, 
when you come to my age. Women never gi’ their con¬ 
sent, man, if they can help it, ’tis not the fashion. If 1 
had stayed for her mother’s consent, I might have been a 
bachelor to this day.—To her, to her, co to her, that’s it, 

you jolly dog. I tell thee shat ha’ her to-morrow morn- 

• } } 

mg. 

Blifil suffered himself to be overpowered by the forcible 
rhetoric of the squire ; and it being agreed that Western 
should close with Allworthy that very afternoon, the lover 
departed home, having first earnestly begged that no vio¬ 
lence might be offered to the lady by this haste, in the same 
manner as a popish inquisitor begs the lay power to do no 
violence to the heretic delivered over to it, and against 
w r hom the church hath passed sentence. 

And, to say the truth, Blifil had passed sentence against 
Sophia ; for, however pleased he had declared himself to 
Western with his reception, he was by no means satisfied, 
unless it was that he was convinced of the hatred and scorn 
• of his mistress ; and this had produced no less reciprocal 
hatred and scorn in him. It may, perhaps, be asked, Why, 
then, did he not put an immediate end to all further court¬ 
ship ? I answer, for that very reason, as well as for several 
others equally good, which we shall now proceed to open 
to the reader. 

Though Mr. Blifil was not of the complexion of Jones* 



354 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


nor ready to eat every woman lie saw ; yet he was far 
from being destitute of that appetite which is said to be the 
common property of all animals. With this, he had like¬ 
wise that distinguishing taste which serves to direct men in 
their choice of the object or food of their several appetites ; 
and this taught him to consider Sophia as a most delicious 
morsel, indeed to regard her with the same desires which an 
ortolan inspires into the soul of an epicure. Now the ago¬ 
nies which affected the mind of Sophia rather augmented 
than impaired her beauty ; for her tears added brightness 
to her eyes, and her breasts rose higher with her sighs. In¬ 
deed, no one hath seen beauty in its highest lustre who hath 
never seen it in distress. Blifil therefore looked on this 
human ortolan with greater desire than when he viewed her 
last ; nor was his desire at all lessened by the aversion 
which he discovered in her to himself. On the contrary, 
tliis served rather to heighten the pleasure he proposed in 
rifling her charms, as it added triumph to lust ; nay, he had 
some further views, from obtaining the absolute possession 
of her person, which we detest too much even to mention ; 
and revenge itself was not without its share in the gratifi¬ 
cations which he promised himself. The rivalling poor 
Jones, and supplanting him in her affections, added an¬ 
other spur to his pursuit, and promised another additional 
rapture to his enjoyment. 

Besides all these views, which to some scrupulous persons 
may seem to savor too much of malevolence, he had one 
prospect, which few readers will regard with any great ab¬ 
horrence. And this was the estate of Mr. Western, which 
was all to be settled on his daughter and her issue ; for so 
extravagant was the affection of that fond parent, that, pro¬ 
vided his child would but consent to be miserable with the 
husband he chose, he cared not at what price he purchased 
him. 

For these reasons Mr. Blifil was so desirous of the match 


i 




TOM .TOMES: A EG UMDLIJSTG. 355 

that lie intended to deceive Sophia, by pretending love to 
hei , and to deceive her father and his own uncle, by pre¬ 
tending he was beloved by her. In doing this he availed 
himself of the piety of Thwackum, who held, that if the 
end proposed was religious (as surely matrimony is), it mat¬ 
tered not how wicked were the means. As to other occa¬ 
sions, he used to apply the philosophy of Square, which 
taught that the end was immaterial, so that the means were 
fair and consistent with moral rectitude. To say truth, 
there were few occurrences in life on which he could not 
draw advantage from the precepts of one or other of those 
great masters. 

Little deceit was indeed necessary to be practised on Mr. 
Western, who thought the inclinations of his daughter of 
as little consequence as Blifil himself conceived them to be ; 
but as the sentiments of Mr. Allworthy were of a very differ¬ 
ent kind, so it was absolutely necessary to impose on him. 
In this, however, Blifil was so well assisted by Western 
that he succeeded without difficulty ; for as Mr. Allworthy 
had been assured by her father that Sophia had a proper 
affection for Blifil, and that all which he had suspected con¬ 
cerning Jones was entirely false, Blifil had nothing more to 
do than to confirm these assertions, which he did with such 
equivocations that he preserved a salvo for his conscience ; 
and had the satisfaction of conveying a lie to his uncle, 
without the guilt of telling one. When he was examined 
touching the inclinations of Sophia by Allworthy, who said, 
“ He would on no account be accessary to forcing a young 
lady into a marriage contrary to her own will,” he an¬ 
swered, “ That the real sentiments of young ladies were 
very difficult to be understood ; that her behavior to him 
was full as forward as he wished it, and that if he could be¬ 
lieve her father, she had all the affection for him which any 
lover could desire. As for Jones,” said he, “ whom I am 
loath to call villain, though his behavior to you, sir, suffi- 



356 


THE HIST OR Y OF 


ciently justifies the appellation, his own vanity, or perhaps 
some wicked views, might make him boast of a falsehood ; 
for if there had been any reality in Miss Western’s love to 
him, the greatness of her fortune would never have suf¬ 
fered him to desert her, as you are well informed he hath. 
Lastly, sir, I promise you I would not myself, for any con¬ 
sideration, no, not for the whole world, consent to marry 
this young lady, if I was not persuaded she had all the pas¬ 
sion for me which I desire she should have. 

This ^excellent method of conveying a falsehood with the 
heart only, without making the tongue guilty of an un¬ 
truth, by the means of equivocation and imposture, hath 
quieted the conscience of many a notable deceiver ; and 
yet, when we consider that it is Omniscience on which 
these endeavor to impose, it may possibly seem capable of 
affording only a very superficial comfort ; and that this art¬ 
ful and refined distinction between communicating a lie, 
and telling one, is hardly worth the pains it costs them. 

Allworthy was pretty well satisfied with what Mr. West¬ 
ern and Mr. Blifil told him ; and the treaty was now, at the 
end of two days, concluded. Nothing then remained pre¬ 
vious to the office of the priest but the office of the law¬ 
yers, which threatened to take up so much time that West¬ 
ern offered to bind himself by all manner of covenants, 
rather than defer the happiness of the young couple. In¬ 
deed, he was so very earnest and pressing that an indiffer¬ 
ent person might have concluded he was more a principal in 
this match than he really was ; but this eagerness was natu¬ 
ral to him on all occasions, and he conducted every scheme 
he undertook in such a manner as if the success of that 
alone was sufficient to constitute the whole happiness of his 
life. 

The joint importunities of both father and son-in-law 
would probably have prevailed on Mr. Allworthy, who 
brooked but ill any delay of giving happiness to others, had 





TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING 351 

not Sophia herself prevented it, and taken measures to put 
a final end to the whole treaty, and to rob both church and 
law of those taxes which these wise bodies have thought 
proper to receive from the propagation of the human spe¬ 
cies in a lawful manner. Of which in the next chapter. 

CHAPTER VII. 

A STRANGE RESOLUTION OF SOPHIA, AND A MORE STRANGE 

STRATAGEM OF MRS. HONOUR. 

Though Mrs. Honour was principally attached to her own 
interest, she was not without some little attachment to So¬ 
phia. To say truth, it was very difficult for any one to 
know that young lady without loving her. She no sooner, 
therefore, heard a piece of news which she imagined to he 
of great importance to her mistress than, quite forgetting 
the anger which she had conceived two days before at her 
unpleasant dismission from Sophia’s presence, she ran has¬ 
tily to inform her of the news. 

The beginning of her discourse was as abrupt as her en¬ 
trance into the room. “ O dear, ma’am,” says she, “ what 
doth your la’ship think ? To be sure I am frightened 
out of my wits ; and yet I thought it my duty to tell your 
la’ship, though perhaps it may make you angry, for we ser¬ 
vants don’t always know what will make our ladies angry ; 
for, to be sure, everything is always laid to the charge of a 
servant. When our ladies are out of humor, to be sure we 
must be scolded ; and to be sure I should not wonder if 
your la’ship should be out of humor ; nay, it must surprise 
you certainly, ay, and shock you too.” “ Good Honour, 
let me know it without any longer preface,” says Sophia ; 
“ there are few things, I promise you, which will surprise, 
and fewer which will shock me.” “Dear ma’am,” am 






358 


THE III ST OR Y OF 


ewered Honour, “ to be sure I overheard my master talk 
ing to parson Supple about getting a license this very after¬ 
noon ; and to be sure I heard him say your la’sliip should 
be married to-morrow morning.” Sophia turned pale at 
these words, and repeated eagerly “ to-morrow morning !” 
“ Yes, madam,” replied the trusty waiting-woman, “I 
will take my oath I heard my master say so.” u Hon¬ 
our, ’ ’ says Sophia, ‘ £ you have both surprised and shocked 
me to such a degree that I have scarce any breath or spirits 
left. What is to be done in my dreadful situation ?” “ I 

wish I was able to advise you la’ship,” says she. “ Ho ad¬ 
vise me,” cries Sophia ; “pray, dear Honour, advise me. 
Think what you would attempt if it was your own case.” 
“ Indeed, ma’am,” cries Honour, “ I wish you la’ship and 
I could change situations ; that is, I mean without hurting 
your la’ship ; for to be sure I don’t wish you so bad as to 
be a servant ; but because that if so be it was my case, I 
should find no manner of difficulty in it ; for, in my poor 
opinion, young Squire Blifil is a charming, sweet, hand¬ 
some, man.” “ Don’t mention such stuff,” cries Sophia. 
“ Such stuff!” repeated Honour; “ why, there. Well, 
to be sure, what’s one man’s meat is another man’s poison, 
and the same is altogether as true of women.” “ Honour,” 
says Sophia, “ rather than submit to be the wife of that 
contemptible wretch, I would plunge a dagger into my 
heart.” “ O lud, ma’am !” answered the other, “ I am 
sure you frighten me out of my wits now. Let me beseech 
your la’ship not to suffer such wicked thoughts to come 
into your head. O lud ! to be sure I tremble every inch of 
me. Dear ma’am, consider that to be denied Christian 
burial, and to have your corpse buried in the highway, and a 
stake drove through you, as farmer Halfpenny was served 
at Ox Cross ; and, to be sure, his ghost hath walked there 
ever since, for several people have seen him. To be sure it 
can be nothing but the devil which can put such wicked 



359 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING . 

thoughts into the head of anybody ; for certainly it is less 
wicked to hurt all the w r orld than one’s own dear self ; and 
so I have heard said by more parsons than one. If your 
la’ship hath such a violent aversion, and hates the young 
gentleman so very bad that you can’t bear to think of going 
into bed to him ; for to be sure there may be such antipa¬ 
thies in nature, and one had lieverer touch a toad than the 
flesh of some people.” 

Sophia had been too much w T raj3ped in contemplation to pay 
any great attention to the foregoing excellent discourse of 
her maid ; interrupting her, therefore, without making any 
answ T er to it, she said, u Honour, I am come to a resolu¬ 
tion. I am determined to leave my father’s house this very 
night ; and if you have the friendship for me which you 
have often professed, you will keep me company.” 
“ That I will, ma’am, to the world’s end,” answered Hon¬ 
our ; “ but I beg your la’ship to consider the consecpience 
before you undertake any rash action. Where can your 
la’ship possibly go ?” “ There is,” replied Sophia, “ a lady 
of quality in London, a relation of mine, who spent several 
months with my aunt in the country, during all which 
time she treated me with great kindness, and expressed so 
much pleasure in my company that she earnestly desired 
my aunt to suffer me to go with her to London. As she is 
a woman of very great note, I shall easily find her out, and 
I make no doubt of being very well and kindly received by 
her.” U I would not have your la’ship too confident of 
that, ’ ’ cries Honour ; 4 ‘ for the first lady I lived with used 
to invite people very earnestly to her house ; but if she 
heard afterwards they were coming, she used to get out of 
the w r ay. Besides, though this lady would be very glad to 
see your la’ship, as to be sure anybody would be glad to see 
your la’ship, yet when she hear, your la’ship is run away 
from my master—” “ You, are mistaken, Honour,” says 

Sophia; “ she looks upon the authority of a father in a 






360 


THE HISTOR Y OF 


mucli lower light than I do ; for she pressed me violently 
to go to London with her, and when I refused to go with¬ 
out my father’s consent, she laughed me to scorn, called me 
silly country girl, and said I should make a pure loving 
wife, since I could he so dutiful a daughter. So I have no 
doubt but she will both receive me and protect me, too, till 
my father, finding me out of his power, can be brought to 
some reason. ” 

“ Well, but, ma’am,” answered Honour, 44 how doth 
your la’sliip think of making your escape ? Where will you 
get any horses or conveyance ? For as for your own horse, 
as all the servants know a little how matters stand between 
my master and your la’ship, Itobin will be hanged before 
he will suffer it to go out of the stable without my master’s 
express orders. ” 4 4 I intend to escape, ’ ’ said Sophia, 4 4 by 

walking out of the doors when they are open. I thank 
heaven my legs are very able to carry me. They have sup¬ 
ported me many a long evening after a fiddle, with no very 
agreeable partner ; and surely they will assist me in run¬ 
ning from so detestable a partner for life.” 44 Oh, heaven, 
ma’am! doth your la’ship know what you are saying ?” 
cries Honour ; 44 would you think of walking about the 
country by night and alone?” 44 Hot alone,” answered 
the lady; 44 you have promised to bear me company.” 
44 Yes, to be sure,” cries Honour, 44 1 will follow your 
la’sliip through the world ; but your la’ship had almost 
as good be alone ; for I should not be able to defend you, 
if any robbers, or other villains, should meet with you. 
Hay, I should be in as horrible a fright as your la’ship ; for, 
to be certain, they would ravish us both. Besides, ma’am, 
consider how cold the nights are now ; we shall be frozen to 
death.” 44 A good brisk pace,” answered Sophia, 44 will 
preserve us from the cold ; and if you cannot defend me 
from a villain, Honour, I will defend you ; for I will take a 
pistol with me. There are two always charged in the hall. ” 


361 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 

u Dear ma’am, you frighten me more and more,” cries 
Honour ; u sure your la’ship would not venture to fire it 
off ! I had rather run any chance than your la’ship should 
do that.” u Why so? 1 says Sophia, smiling; u would 
not you, Honour, fire a pistol at any one who should attack 
your virtue?” “ To be sure, ma’am,” cries Honour, 
u one’s virtue is a dear thing, especially to us poor ser¬ 
vants ; for it is our livelihood, as a body may say ; yet I 
mortally hate fire-arms, for so many accidents happen by 
them.” “ Well, well,” says Sophia, U I believe T may 
ensure your virtue at a very cheap rate, without carrying 
any arms with us ; for I intend to take horses at the very 
first town we come to, and we shall hardly be attacked in 
our way thither. Look’ee, Honour, I am resolved to go ; 
and if you will attend me, I promise you I will reward you 
to the very utmost of my power. ’ ’ 

This last argument had a stronger effect on Honour than 
all the preceding. And since she saw her mistress so de¬ 
termined, she desisted from any further dissuasions. They 
then entered into a debate on ways and means of executing 
their project. Here a very stubborn difficulty occurred, 
and this was the removal of their effects, which was much 
more easily got over by the mistress than by the maid ; for 
when a lady hath once taken a resolution to run to a lover, 
or to run from him, all obstacles are considered as trifles. 
But Honour was inspired by no such motive ; she had no 
raptures to expect, nor any terrors to shun ; and besides the 
real value of her clothes, in which consisted a great part of 
her fortune, she had a capricious fondness for several 
gowns, and other things ; either because they became her, 
or because they were given her by such a particular per¬ 
son ; because she had bought them lately, or because she 
had had them long ; or for some other reasons equally 
good ; so that she could not endure the thoughts of leaving 
the poor things behind her exposed to the mercy of West- 



362 THE II 1ST OR Y OF 

era, who, she doubted not, would in his rage make them 
suffer martyrdom. 

The ingenious Mrs. Honour having applied all her ora- 
tory to dissuade her mistress from her purpose, when she 
found her positively determined, at last started the follow¬ 
ing expedient to remove her clothes, viz., to get lierselt 
turned out of doors that very evening. Sophia highly ap 
proved this method, but doubted how it might be brought 
about. “ O, ma’am,” cries Honour, “ your la’ship may 
trust that to me ; we servants very well know how to ob¬ 
tain this favor of our masters and mistresses ; though some¬ 
times, indeed, where they owe us more wages than they can 
readily pay, they will put up with all our affronts, and will 
hardly take any warning we can give them ; but the squire 
is none of those ; and since your la’ship is resolved upon 
setting out to-night, I warrant I get discharged this after¬ 
noon. ’ ’ It was then resolved that she should pack up some 
linen and a night-gown for Sophia wdth her own things ; 
and as for all her other clothes, the young lady abandoned 
them with no more remorse than the sailor feels when he 
throws over the goods of others, in order to save his own 
life. 


CHAPTER Yin. 

CONTAINING SCENES OF ALTERCATION, OF NO VERY UNCOMMON 

KIND. 

Mrs. Honour had scarce sooner parted from her young 
lady than something (for I would not, like the old woman 
in Quivedo, injure the devil by any false accusation, and 
possibly he might have no hand in it)—but something, I 
say, suggested itself to her, that by sacrificing Sophia and 
all her secrets to Mr. Western, she might probably make 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 363 

her fortune. Many considerations urged this discovery. 
The fair prospect of a handsome reward for so great and ac¬ 
ceptable a service to the squire, tempted her avarice ; and 
again, the danger of the enterprise she had undertaken ; 
the uncertainty of its success ; night, cold, robbers, ravish - 
ers, all alarmed her fears. So forcibly did all these operate 
upon her that she was almost determined to go directly to 
the squire, and to lay open the whole affair. She was, 
however, too upright a judge to decree on one side before 
she had heard the other. And here, first, a journey to 
London appeared very strongly in support of Sophia. She 
eagerly longed to see a place in which she fancied charms 
short only of those which a raptured saint imagines in hea¬ 
ven. In the next place, as she knew Sophia to have much 
more generosity than her master, so her fidelity promised 
her a greater reward than she could gain by treachery. 
She then cross-examined all the articles which had raised 
her fears on the other side, and found, on fairly sifting the 
matter, that there was very little in them. And now both 
scales being reduced to a pretty even balance, her love to 
her mistress being thrown into the scale of her integrity 
made that rather preponderate, when a circumstance struck 
upon her imagination which might have had a dangerous 
effect, had its whole weight been fairly put into the other 
scale. Tliis was the length of time which must intervene 
before Sophia would be able to fulfil her promises ; for 
though she was entitled to her mother’s fortune at the death 
of her father, and to the sum of £3000 left her by an uncle 
when she came of age ; yet these were distant days, and 
many accidents might prevent the intended generosity of 
the young lady ; whereas the rewards she might expect 
from Mr. Western were immediate. But while she was 
pursuing this thought the good genius of Sophia, or that 
which presided over the integrity of Mrs. Honour, or per¬ 
haps mere chance, sent an accident in her way, which at 






364 THE HI ST OR Y OF 

once preserved her fidelity, and even facilitated the intend- 
ed business. 

Mrs. Western’s maid claimed great superiority over Mrs. 
Honour on several accounts. First, her birth was higher ; 
for her great-grandmother by the mother’s side was a cou¬ 
sin, not far removed, to an Irish peer. Secondly, liei 
wages were greater. And, lastly, she had been at London, 
and had of consequence seen more of the world. She had 
always behaved, therefore, to Mrs. Honour with that re¬ 
serve, and had always exacted of her those marks of dis¬ 
tinction, which every order of females preserves and re¬ 
quires in conversation with those of an inferior order. 
Now as Honour did not at all times agree with this doc¬ 
trine, but would frequently break in upon the respect which 
the other demanded, Mrs. Western’s maid was not at all 
pleased with her company ; indeed, she earnestly longed to 
return home to the house of her mistress, whore she domi¬ 
neered at will over all the other servants. She had been 
greatly, therefore, disappointed in the morning, when Mrs. 
Western had changed her wind on the very point of de¬ 
parture ; and had been in what is vulgarly called a glouting 
humor ever since. 

In this humor, which was none of the sweetest, she came 
into the room where Honour was debating with herself in 
the manner we have above related. Honour no sooner saw 
her than she addressed her in the following obliging 
phrase : “ Soli, madam, I find we are to have the pleas¬ 

ure of your company longer, which I was afraid the quar¬ 
rel between my master and your lady would have robbed us 
of.” “I don’t know, madam,” answered the other, “ who 
you mean by we and us. I assure you I do not look on 
any of the servants in this house to be proper company for 
me. I am company, I hope, for their betters every day in 
the week. I do not speak on your account, Mrs. Honour, 
for you are a civilized young woman ; and when you have 


TOM JONES: A FOUNDLING. 


365 


seen a little more of the world I should not be ashamed to 
walk with you- in St. James’s Park.” “ Hoity toity !” 
cries Honour, “ madam is in her airs, I protest. Mrs. 
Honour, forsooth ! sure, madam, you might call me by my 
surname ; for though my lady calls me Honour, I have a 
surname as well as other folks. Ashamed to walk with 
me, quotha ! marry, as good as yourself, I hope.” “ Since 
you make such a return to my civility,” said the other, “ I 
must acquaint you, Mrs. Honour, that you are not so good 
as me. In the country, indeed, one is obliged to take up 
with all kind of trumpery ; but in town I visit none 
but the women of quality. Indeed, Mrs. Honour, there 
is some difference, I hope, between you and me. ” “I 
hope so too,” answered Honour : “ there is some differ¬ 
ence in our ages, and—I think in our persons.” Upon 
speaking which last words, she strutted by Mrs. Western’s 
maid with the most provoking air of contempt, turning 
up her nose, tossing her head, and violently brushing the 
hoop of her competitor with her own. The other lady put 
on one of her malicious sneers, and said, “ Creature ! you 
are below my anger ; and it is beneath me to give ill words 
to such an audacious saucy trollop ; but, hussy, I must tell 
you, your breeding shows the meanness of your birth as 
well as of your education ; and both very properly qualify 
you to be the mean serving-woman of a country girl.” 
“Don’t abuse my lady,” cries Honour: “I won’t take 
that of you ; she’s as much better than yours as she is 
younger, and ten thousand times more handsomer.” 

Here ill-luck, or rather good luck, sent Mrs. Western to 
see her maid in tears, which began to flow plentifully at her 
approach ; and of which being asked the reason by her 
mistress, she presently acquainted her that her tears were 
occasioned by the rude treatment of that creature there- 
meaning Honour. “ And, madam,” continued she, “I 
could have despised all she said to me ; but she hath had 









306 


THE HISTORY OF TOM JONES . 


the audacity to affront your ladyship, and to call you ugly 
—Yes, madam, she called you ugly old cat to my face, i 
could not bear to hear your ladyship called ugly.” “ Why 
do you repeat her impudence so often ?” said Mrs. West¬ 
ern. And then turning to Mrs. Honour, she asked her 
6 ‘ How she had the assurance to mention her name w T itk dis 
respect?” “ Disrespect, madam!” answered Honour; 
u I never mentioned your name at all : I said somebody 
was not as handsome as my mistress, and to be sure you 
know that as well as I.” “ Hussy,” replied the lady, “ I 

will make such a saucy trollop as yourself know that I am 
not a proper subject of your discourse. And if my brother 
doth not discharge you this moment, I will never sleep in 
his house again. I w T ill find him out, and have you dis¬ 
charged this moment.” “ Discharged !” cries Honour; 
“ and suppose I am : there are more places in the world 
than one. Thank heaven, good servants need not w r ant 
places ; and if you turn away all who do not think you 
handsome, you will want servants very soon ; let me tell 
you that. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Western spoke, or rather thundered, in answ r er ; 
but as she was hardly articulate, we cannot be very certain 
of the identical words ; we shall therefore omit inserting a 
speech which at best would not greatly redound to her 
honor. She then departed in search of her brother, with a 
countenance so full of rage that she resembled one of the 
furies rather than a human creature. 

The two chambermaids being again left alone, began a 
second bout at altercation, which soon produced a combat 
of a more active kind. In this the victory belonged to the 
lady of inferior rank, but not without some loss of blood 
of hair, and of lawn and muslin. 

End Vol. 1. 



























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